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Updated: June 20, 2025
You've cost me a thousand English pounds by coming here to-night." "Indeed?" Courteney spoke stiffly. He felt stiff, physically stiff, as one forcibly awakened from a deep slumber. The man beside him was still chuckling. "Yes. The little witch! Said she'd manage it somehow when I told her you weren't taking any. We had a thousand on it, and the little devil has won, outwitted us both.
Courteney told me that if I wish to save my life it must be at the cost of my ambition; that I can never be an advocate, a teacher, a preacher; that I shall have to go softly all my days, and take care that the winds don't blow on me too roughly; that I must be an exile from English fogs and cold, let me prefer home ever so dearly; that I must read only a little, and write only a little, and avoid all violent emotions, and be in fact the creature I have most despised a poor valetudinarian, always feeling my own pulse and considering my own feelings."
In the eyes of the man, newly awakened, she had the look of one who has seen life without comprehending it. "I always like to get the other side of things, don't you?" she said. "But I won't stay with you if you are bored. I am going right to the end of the rocks to see the tide come in." "And be washed away?" suggested Courteney. "Oh no," she assured him confidently. "That won't happen.
"And your name?" he said. She turned out her hands with a little gesture that was utterly unstudied and free from self-consciousness. "My name is Rosemary," she said. "It means remembrance." "You are her adopted child?" Courteney was, looking at her curiously. Out of what part of Rosa Mundi's strange, fretted existence had the desire for remembrance sprung to life?
W. Lee's family numbered one hundred and ninety-seven. Mr. W. Lee five times Mayor of Abingdon was, no doubt, a benefactor to his generation, but I hope there are not many of his kind about in this overcrowded nineteenth century. From Abingdon to Nuneham Courteney is a lovely stretch. Nuneham Park is well worth a visit. It can be viewed on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
A letter from my steward tells me that my presence is wanted at home; and being disappointed in my hope of seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney here, some of my very old friends, there is nothing to detain me longer in Bath. And could we carry our selfish point with you, we should leave it without a single regret.
He bowed, still silent, still strangely bound and fettered by the compelling force. A hand that was lithe and slender and oddly boyish came out to him. A voice that had in it sweet, lilting notes, like the voice of a laughing child, spoke his name. "Mr. Courteney! How kind!" it said. As from a distance he heard Grant speak. "Mr. Courteney, allow me to introduce you my wife!"
"I knew it was much nicer this side than the other. No one can see us here, either." "Is that why you wanted to get over?" he asked. She nodded, her pink face all mystery. "It's nice to get away from everyone sometimes, isn't it? Even Rosa Mundi thinks that. Did you know that she is here? It is being kept a dead secret." "Rosa Mundi!" Courteney started.
They were going to strew the Pier with roses on the night of her appearance, and they were watching even now for the first sign of her with all the eager curiosity that marks down any celebrity as fair prey. Courteney smiled grimly to himself. How often it had been his lot to evade the lion-hunters! It was an unspeakable relief to have the general attention thus diverted from himself.
The early sun smote down upon them with increasing strength. Her face was deathly pale against the red of her cap. "We must get to shore," said Courteney, observing her. "That dreadful current!" she gasped through quivering lips. "No. We can avoid that. It will mean a scamper over the sands when we get there, but that will do you good. Stay as you are! I will tow you."
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