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Updated: June 22, 2025
She loves it a lot more than she does me. It's been a continual joy to her. Why, where would she have been while I was in India all that year if she hadn't had all this in her hands? You don't know what you're talking about." His voice rang down his scorn. Chevenix began to stammer. "You're hopeless, Nevile, utterly hopeless. Every word you say gives up your case.
You must put your memory on the rack, Major, and when ye've remembered when and where ye met him, be sure ye tell me. 'I will not fail, sir, said Chevenix. 'Seek to him! cried Robbie, waving his hand as he departed. The Major, as soon as we were alone, turned upon me his impassive countenance. 'Well, he said, 'you have courage. 'It is undoubted as your honour, sir, I returned, bowing.
He paid nobody anything at all when she was in the same county. He used to sit listening to her thrilling the waves of air. He used to hear her voice in the wind and when it changed, he used to fire off his answers!" Mrs. Germain laughed whether at Chevenix or his preposterous hero is not to be known. "You are rather absurd," she said. "Mr. Senhouse never gave me the idea of that sort of person.
"It will do him good," Mrs. John used to agree; and John Chevenix would chuckle internally, and say, "Go it, you two." On these terms they were all very happy. Bill Chevenix had told his sister-in-law as much about Sanchia as he thought fitting. To begin with, he took all responsibility upon himself for the opening scene of her wild adventure.
Without knowing it, it was life she wanted, not books. She with her brains, vitality, beauty, and charm had been growing in these graces unawares, flowering in secret at Wanless under her aprons, behind her account-books and garden gloves. Now that all these swaddling bands were stripped off her, behold her, armed at all points for the lists. So Chevenix had beheld her, it seems.
How she loved to be loved! How she loved to be praised for her good looks! The world had grown suddenly kind again; the world was good. There, ahead of her, stood Mrs. John Chevenix and a friendly Lady Maria, beckoning her to London delights, a friendly world of admiring eyes. She was to be looked at she was to listen and be heard. Her heart beat, eyes shone starry.
Sanchia looked at the fire, and put her foot close to it, to be warmed. "Tea-party," said Chevenix. "That's it, Nevile." He nodded sagely at his host, and saw his brow clear. Ingram shut the door and came into the room, to a chair. "That's all right," he said. "I hope it was a livelier one than mine. That old Devereux was on her high-stepper. I'm sick of being trampled.
We appeal to the queen for judgment, I added, turning and bowing before Flora. 'And how shall the queen judge? she asked. 'I must give you an answer that is no answer at all. "The wind bloweth where it listeth": she goes where her heart goes. Her face flushed as she said it; mine also, for I read in it a declaration, and my heart swelled for joy. But Chevenix grew pale.
Sanchia's eyes were narrow and critical. She peered as if she were trying to find good somewhere in Nevile Ingram. "He'd risk anything to get what he thought were his rights. But not upon a bed for a raft. He'd write to London for the latest thing in coracles. He's very conventional." "You have to be," said Chevenix with sudden energy. He wheeled round upon her as he spoke. "We all have to be.
To think of her then and to see her now! She won't look at me! I don't exist." He plunged his face between his hands, and rocked himself about. Chevenix watched him without a word. Suddenly he lifted his pinched face, and complained bitterly. "I can't understand it I don't know what's changed her. Why, it's awful to make a chap suffer like this!" He stared about him.
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