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Updated: June 15, 2025
I wish to God we'd let the man alone!" Mrs. Carraby looked at her husband steadfastly. She was a little taller than he. She looked at him, from his well-brushed hair to the trim patent boots which adorned his small feet. She looked at him and in those strange-colored eyes of hers were unmentionable things. She turned away and walked to the window.
Carraby, who had just entered the room, fulfilled in an even greater degree these same characteristics. It was acknowledged to be a very satisfactory household. "I should like to speak to you for a moment, Algernon," his wife announced. Mr. Carraby noticed for the first time that she was carrying a letter in her hand. He turned at once to his secretary.
Carraby, for instance, was quite one of the events of the season. It was so perfectly administered, so utterly scathing. I hear that the poor creature went to bed for a fortnight afterwards. Gracious, I hope I am not distressing you, Julien!" she added hastily. "Not in the least," Julien assured her grimly. "I have no interest in Mrs. Carraby." Lady Anne sighed.
"Whether it is true or not," Carraby retorted, "it makes no difference. I wanted this post, wanted it for your sake as much as my own, and I wish to Heaven that it was at the bottom of the sea! I'd resign to-morrow if I could do so with dignity. I can't now, of course. Every one would say I was chucked. To make things worse," he went on savagely, "there come these infernal letters of Portel's!"
"I think," he declared, "that Mrs. Carraby can take care of herself." "Perhaps," Lady Anne replied, looking thoughtfully at her cigarette. "You see, the woman knows in her heart that she's impossible. She copies all our bad tricks. She sees that we all flirt as a matter of course, and she tries to outdo us. It's the old story. What one person can do with impunity, another makes an awful hash of.
Both sides want you back. There is a feeling that you were allowed to go much too easily, that the indiscretion of which you were guilty was a trifle. This man Carraby is what you call a cad! That does not do in the high places. Nationality cannot conceal a lack of breeding." "I have thought over many things," Julien admitted. "If the way is made clear for me, I shall go back. Why not?
Carraby, on whom had been plastered an expensive and ultra-fashionable education, although she was able perhaps more effectually to conceal her origin, the daughter of a rich Yorkshire manufacturer, who had secured a paid entrance into Society.
You have got hold of the middle class, you've bought the Irish vote, you've bought labor. In the ranks of your party there isn't a man whom I fear only you. I will not have you go back." "But as it happens," Julien announced, "I am going back. I have heard from England this evening. Your friend Carraby is resigning." Falkenberg shook his head.
"I do not intend," Falkenberg declared, in a low, firm tone, "to have you back, a member of any English Government. I prefer Carraby and such as he." "You flatter me!" Julien remarked grimly. "Not in the least," Falkenberg objected. "You know the position as well as I. The political party of which you are a member is in power for a long time.
"There was also one thing," she remarked, looking at him intently, "which I intended to ask you, provided you gave me the opportunity." "It is about Mrs. Carraby," he said firmly. "So was my question," she murmured. "The friendship between Mrs. Carraby and myself," Julien continued, "has been patent to every one for a great many years. I knew her long before I did you.
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