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Updated: May 6, 2025
Abingdon himself and most of his guests were in favour of attending an aviation meeting at Wynhampton a few miles away. Caryl was not present, but as she passed through the hall a little later, he came in at the front door. "I was just coming to you," he remarked, pausing to flick the ash from his cigarette before closing the door.
Caryl, a gentleman who, being secretary to King James's queen, had followed his mistress into France, and who, being the author of Sir Solomon Single, a comedy, and some translations, was entitled to the notice of a wit, solicited Pope to endeavour a reconciliation by a ludicrous poem which might bring both the parties to a better temper.
Barely a quarter of an hour after the encounter with Caryl, dressed in a long dark motoring coat and closely veiled, she slipped down the back stairs that led to the servants' quarters, stood listening against a baize door that led into the front hall, then whisked it open and fled across to open the conservatory door, noiseless as a shadow. The conservatory was in semi-darkness.
To prove himself more polite than she supposed, Caryl Carne, hat in hand and with low bows preserving a respectful distance, conducted her to a little place of shelter, so pretty and humble and secluded by its own want of art, and simplicity of skill, that she was equally pleased and surprised with it.
Like you, I have a high esteem for him, and he has my most heartfelt sympathy." She ceased to speak, and there was a little pause. "How dreadful!" Molly said then. "It must be far worse to lose a lot of money than to be poor from the beginning." The flush had quite passed from her face. She even looked slightly pale. Lady Caryl laid down her cup and rose. "That would be so, no doubt," she said.
A man as will do what he have done is a black one in some ways; and if some, why not in all?" "Tell me what you mean," said Twemlow, sternly. "After saying so much, you are bound to say more. Caryl Carne is no friend of mine, although he is my cousin. I dislike the man, though I know but little of him."
The lingering gossips, the tired fagot-bearers, the youths going home from the hay-rick, the man with a gun who knows where the hares play, and beyond them all the truant sweethearts, who cannot have enough of one another, and wish "good-night" at every corner of the lane, till they tumble over one another's cottage steps all these to Caryl Carne were a smell to be avoided, an eyesore to shut the eyes at.
That upright dealer had not recovered his usual self-possession yet, but managed to look up for he was shorter by a head than his visitor with a doubtful and enquiring smile. "I am Caryl Carne, of Carne Castle, as you are pleased to call it.
Or who knows but it is the very ring which Posthumus received from Imogen? In short, you must kindle your imagination at the lustre of this diamond, and make a legend for it." Now such a task and doubtless Clara knew it was the most acceptable that could have been imposed on Edward Caryl.
But, as he had given up the public prosecution of the Divorce argument, his punishment for Edwards and Baillie came in a different form from that which he had administered in the Tetrachordon and Colasterion to Herbert Palmer, Dr. Featley, Mr. Caryl, Mr. Prynne, and the anonymous attorney. It came in verse, thus
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