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Updated: May 15, 2025
"We refused to pay his price," was the way in which Lady Coryston was accustomed to put it, "so the Liberals bought him dear!" And he was now exacting from that luckless party the very uttermost farthing!
Lady Coryston seldom wore colors, but the richest of black silks and satins and the finest of laces were pressed night and day into the service of her masterful good looks. She made her own fashions.
She adored Marcia, and indeed all the family. Lady Coryston called her "Miss Wagstaffe" but to the others, sons and daughter, she was only "Waggin." There were very few things about the Coryston family she did not know; but her discretion was absolute. As she saw Marcia running down-stairs her face lit up. "My dear, what a lovely gown! and how sweet you look!"
I should have cut it up into small holdings. I should have pulled down the house or made it into a county hospital." "You make it your business to wound, Coryston." "No, I simply tell you what I should have done. And I should have been absolutely in my right!" He brought his hand down with passion on the chair beside him. "My father had his way. In justice I the next generation ought to have mine.
"A quid without a quo?" interrupted Coryston, who had suddenly dropped his argument with Sir Wilfrid, and had thrown himself on a sofa near his mother and Arthur. Lady Coryston took no notice of him. She continued to address her youngest-born. "What Coryston may do now after all that has passed is to me a matter of merely secondary importance.
"What a bourgeois point of view! Well, honestly I don't know. Arthur Coryston is not at all clever. He has the most absurd opinions. We have only known each other a few months. If he were very rich By the way, is he coming this afternoon? And may I have a cigarette?" Marion handed cigarettes. The click of a garden gate in the distance caught her ear. "Here they are he and Lord Coryston."
He took up his normal occupations again, in Parliament and on the estates, and talked no more of Buenos Ayres. But whether his mother's darkened mind ever forgave him it would be difficult to say. She rarely noticed him, and when she spoke it was generally for Coryston. Her dependence upon her eldest son became a touching and poignant thing, deepening the souls of both.
It could only be guessed at, by Marcia, in particular, to whom it fell afterward to take charge of her mother's papers and personal affairs. Lady Coryston had apparently gathered all Arthur's, letters to her together, from the very first to the very latest, tied them up neatly, and laid them in the drawer which held those of her dead husband.
He had kept this bombshell to the last, and for various reasons he closely watched its effect. Lady Coryston paled. "We will have a Tory meeting here the same night, and my son Arthur shall speak," she said, with vivacity. Some odd thoughts arose in the mind of Mr. "By all means. By the way, I did not know Mr.
After dinner Sir Wilfrid Bury found Lady Coryston in a secluded corner, deep in the evening papers which had just arrived. He sat down beside her. "Well, how are you feeling?" "If we could but revive the duel!" said Lady Coryston, looking up with eyes aflame. "Gracious! For what and whom? Do you want to shoot your future son-in-law for taking her from you?" "Who Marcia?
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