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Updated: May 13, 2025
To hunt once a week from his own little country house would be delightful. Who should be the mistress of that home? That of all questions was now the most important. The reader may remember a certain trifling incident which took place some three or four months since on the lawn at Popham Villa. It was an incident which Clary Underwood had certainly never forgotten.
You love the young Desiree Clary, and her indifference troubles you; but be of good cheer, you will one day marry the daughter of a Caesar, and the little Desiree, the daughter of a merchant from Marseilles, will one day be Sweden's queen!
And yet she felt a strong longing within herself to be able to talk of it to some one. Of the two cousins Clary was certainly her favourite, and had she been forced to consult any one, she would have consulted Clary. But an absolute confidence in such a matter with a chosen friend, the more delightful it might appear, was on that very account the more difficult of attainment.
We are not children to play fast and loose with our lives. You love me, Clary. No sweet-spoken pretences, no stereotyped denials, will convince me. You love me, my darling, and the world is all before us. I have mapped-out our future; no sorrow or discredit shall ever come nigh you trust a lover's foresight for that.
"Any protegee of Madame's," he said, and so on. Mr. Granger, who was really a judge of art, fastened on to the picture immediately. "There's something fresh in the style, Clary," he said. "I should like this man to paint your portrait. What's the signature? Austin! That's hardly a French name, I should think eh, Madame Caballero?" "No," replied Madame; "Mr. Austin is an Englishman.
"She will not accept him, Clary." "Yes, she will. I know she will. She is a sly, artful creature. And I have been so good to her." "No, Clary; I think not; but what does it matter? He is unworthy. He can be nothing to you now. Papa was right. He is unworthy." "I care nothing for that. I only care for him. Oh, Patty, take me away. I could not bear to see them when they come out."
"Patience," she said, "why do you not speak to me?" "Not speak to you, Clary?" "Not a word, about that which is always on my mind. You have not mentioned Ralph Newton's name once since his marriage." "I have thought it better not to mention it. Why should I mention it?" "If you think that it would pain me, you are mistaken. It pains me more that you should think that I could not bear it.
I mention this fact because he was unjustly calumniated in letters written after his departure, and which were intercepted and published by the English: I ought also to add, that as he would never for his own private use resort to the money-chest of the army, the contents of which were, indeed, never half sufficient to defray the necessary expenses, he several times drew on Genoa, through M. James, and on the funds he possessed in the house of Clary, 16,000, 25,000, and up to 33,000 francs.
"It's the ugliest of all the ferns," said Clary. "Even that's a compliment," said Newton. "It's no use transplanting them in this weather, but I'll send you a basket in October. You should come down to Newton and see our ferns. We think we're very pretty, but because we're so near, nobody comes to see us." Then he fell a-talking with Mary Bonner, and stayed at the villa nearly all the afternoon.
So you like the look of the old place, do you, Clary?" he went on, turning to his wife; "and you don't think we've quite spoilt it by our renovation?" "O no, indeed. There can be no doubt as to your improvements.
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