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Updated: June 4, 2025
Well, God had very little to do with himself and Cecilia Cricklander! And then he suddenly seemed to see the brutishness of men.
No, it could not bring any pleasure into the life of this slender, lithe English lady with the wonderful Greek name, to be made acquainted with Cecilia Cricklander, who would tear her to pieces without compunction the moment she understood in what direction John Derringham's eyes would probably be cast. He saw Cora's hesitation and understood, and was grateful. "I believe this girl is trumps.
"I just came in to tell you I shall be obliged to tear myself away to-morrow," John Derringham said, "and cannot have the pleasure of staying to the end of the week in this delightful place." Mrs. Cricklander got up from her reclining position among the cushions. This was a blow. She wished now she had not encouraged Mr.
He glossed over nothing of his own baseness, but went on to show how, from the moment he had seen her upon that Good Friday at the orchard house, his determination about Cecilia Cricklander had begun to waver, until the night under the tree when passion overcame every barrier and he knew he must possess her Halcyone for his wife.
He had better shut the whole matter out of his mind, and keep his thoughts upon his coming marriage with Cecilia Cricklander. And it was this frame of mind which caused him to plunge recklessly into work as soon as he reached London, though he found that nothing really assuaged his misery.
Even in his misery and abasement, John Derringham was too assured a spirit and too much a man of the world to have any hesitation or awkwardness. Mrs. Cricklander had been all that was sympathetic. She looked superbly full of vigor and the joy of life as she came to say farewell.
Hanbury-Green was very careful at first. He was quite aware that he was only received with empressement because he was successful; he knew and appreciated the fact that Cecilia Cricklander only cared for members of a winning side.
Cricklander had the satisfaction of listening to a much more advanced admiration of herself than she had hoped to obtain so soon, and arrived in the best of restored humors for John Derringham had clenched his teeth as he left the orchard house, and had told himself that he would not be influenced or put off by any of these trifling things, and that it was some vixenish turn of Fate to have allowed these currents of disillusion about a woman who was so eminently suitable to reach him through the medium of his old friend.
She did not need Arabella's coachings in her dealings with him; he was quite uncultured, and infinitely more appreciated what her old father had been used to call her "horse sense" than he would have done her finest rhapsody upon Nietzsche. Mrs. Cricklander had indeed with him that delightful sense of rest and ceasing from toil that being herself gave.
But by the end of the afternoon John Derringham's face wore no smiles; a blank despair had settled upon him. They drove along the Arno and into the Gardens. It was warm and beautiful, but, so forceful is a hostile atmosphere created between two people, they both found it impossible to make conversation. Mrs. Cricklander was burning with rage and a sense of impotency.
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