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Updated: May 11, 2025
For the fever of knowledge will scorch even those who peer over the sides of the cauldron." Lady Caroom helped herself to some more tea. "Really, Arranmore," she drawled, "for sheer and unadulterated pessimism you are unsurpassed. You must be a very morbid person." He shrugged his shoulders. "One is always called morbid," he remarked, "who dares to look towards the truth."
Lady Caroom and her host were playing a leisurely game interspersed with conversation. "Who is this young Mr. Brooks?" she asked, pausing to chalk her cue. "A solicitor from Medchester," he answered. "He was Parliamentary agent for Henslow, and I am going to give him a management of my estates." "He is quite a boy," she remarked. "Twenty-six or seven," he answered.
"Will it be very engrossing? Will it help us to forget?" He looked at her with a smile. "That depends," he said, "how anxious you are to forget." She looked hastily away. For a moment Brooks met her eyes, and his heart gave an unusual leap. Lady Caroom watched them both thoughtfully, and then turned to their host. "You have excited our curiosity, Arranmore.
Brooks was silent for several moments. Then he looked up suddenly. "Has Lady Sybil said anything to you which led you to speak to me?" Lady Caroom shook her head. "No. She is very young, you know. Frankly, I do not believe that she knows her own mind. You have not spoken to her, of course?" "No!" "And you will not?" "I suppose," Brooks said, "that I must not think of it."
"Except me," Brooks interposed, ruefully. "I shall be the one who will do the vegetating." Lady Caroom laughed softly. "Foolish person! You will be within two hours of London. You none of you have the slightest idea as to the sort of place we are going to. We are a day's journey from anywhere. The morning papers are twenty-four hours late.
"Do you think that he cares at all?" I think he does a little! "Enough to be reconciled with his father for my sake?" "No! Not enough for that," Lady Caroom answered. Sybil drew a little breath. "I think," she said, "that that decides me." The long ascent was over at last. They pulled up before the inn, in front of which the proprietor was already executing a series of low bows.
"Just now as I was coming downstairs it was almost startling. He is a good-looking boy." "Be careful not to foul," he admonished her. "You should have the spider-rest." Lady Caroom made a delicate cannon from an awkward place, and concluded her break in silence. Then she leaned with her back against the table, chalking her cue.
Lady Caroom, grave and sad-eyed, was listening with an anxiety wholly unconcealed. Under the shaded lamplight their faces, dominated by that cold masterly figure at the head of the table, were almost Rembrandtesque. "You have heard a string of incoherent but sufficiently damaging accusations made against me to-day by a young lady whose very existence, I may say, was a surprise to me.
A girl who refuses one of the richest young men in England because she didn't like his collars is incorrigible." "It was not his collars, mother," Sybil objected. "It was his neck. He was always called 'the Giraffe. He had no head and all neck the most fatuous person, too. I hate fools." "That is where you lack education, dear," Lady Caroom answered.
Lady Caroom put down her parasol and turned towards Sybil, whose eyes were steadfastly fixed upon the narrow white belt of road ahead. "Now, Sybil," she said, "for our talk." "Your talk," Sybil corrected her, with a smile. I'm to be listener." "Oh, it may not be so one-sided after all," Lady Caroom declared.
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