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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Was he seriously hurt?" "Well, it was thought so. Mr. Hillary feared the leg would have to come off. He was carried to Hartledon." Very much relieved, Lord Hartledon jumped into a fly and was driven home. The countess-dowager embraced him and fell into hysterics. The crafty old dowager, whose displayed emotion was as genuine as she was!
"And you would hint at some alliance between you and this Anne Ashton!" cried the countess-dowager, in a fume; for she thought she saw a fear that the great prize might slip through her fingers. "What sort of an alliance, I should like to ask? Be careful what you say, Hartledon; you may injure the young woman."
There ensued a little mutual misapprehension, followed by a few emphatic words of denial from Dr. Ashton; and the countess-dowager walked away with a scarlet face, and an explosion of anger against her daughter. Lady Hartledon was not yet callous to the proprieties of life; and the intrusion on the Ashtons, which her mother confessed to, half frightened, half shamed her.
It is possible that written news might have been asked for by the countess-dowager. "Well, my dear, and so I did; but it turned out to be a mistake. He did admire her; there was no mistake about that; and I dare say she might have had him if she liked. How's your brother and his poor leg?" "Oh, he is well," answered Maude. "Au revoir; I can't stand this crush any longer."
Not for some few moments, however, could she understand the cause of complaint. It appeared that the countess-dowager, with that absence of all sense of the fitness of things which so eminently characterized her, had joined the Ashtons after service, inquiring with quite motherly solicitude after Mrs.
Of all my London associations, however, the deepest and the most imperishable is that which weaves itself around the Honorable Ion Keith-Falconer, who has already passed to what may truly be called a Martyr's crown. At that time I met him at his father-in-law's house at Trent; and on another occasion spent a whole day with him at the house of his noble mother, the Countess-Dowager of Kintore.
Hartledon was feeling weary of the world. How little did he divine that the letter of the doctor was called forth by a communication from the countess-dowager. An artful communication, with a charming candour lying on its surface. She asked she actually asked that Dr.
He rarely called her anything but "ma'am," as their nurse had taught him and his brothers and sisters to do in those long-past years. Before eight o'clock the guests had all assembled in the drawing-room, except the countess-dowager and Maude.
To him she was ever all sweetness and suavity. None knew better on which side her bread was buttered than the countess-dowager. She liked it buttered on both sides, and generally contrived to get it. She had come down to Hartledon House with one fixed determination that she did not quit it until the Lady Maude was its mistress. For a long while Maude had been her sole hope.
Nothing could rouse him out of his tame civility, which had been taken more than once for obsequiousness. The countess-dowager had patronized him in earlier years, when he was not a great man, or had begun to dream of becoming one. "Don't you recollect I once consulted you on the subject what's your memory good for?
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