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Updated: June 11, 2025
Colonel Halkett's arms crossed his chest. Cecilia's eyelids drooped their lashes. Mr. Culbrett was balancing on the hind-legs of his chair. No one appeared to be speaking but Nevil. It became evident that Nevil was putting a series of questions to his uncle. Mechanical nods were given him in reply. Presently Mr. Romfrey rose, thundering out a word or two, without a gesture. Colonel Halkett rose.
'The man himself told you his opinion of renegade Whigs. 'Renegade! 'Renegade Whig is an actionable phrase, Mr. Culbrett observed. He was unnoticed. 'If you don't like "renegade," take "dead," said Beauchamp. 'Dead Whig resurgent in the Tory. You are dead. 'It's the stupid conceit of your party thinks that. 'Dead, my dear Mr. Lespel.
He was in the act of slicing the air with his right hand in his accustomed style, one evening at Lady Elsea's, to protest how vast was the dishonour done to the family by Mistress Culling, when Stukely Culbrett stopped him, saying, 'The lady you speak of is the Countess of Romfrey. I was present at the marriage.
Culbrett thought it possible that Cecil had been a little more than humorous in the part he had played in the dispute, and spoke to him. Then it came out that Lord Avonley had also delivered an ultimatum to Beauchamp.
The poor old colonel fell to a more frequent repetition of the 'Well! with which he had been unconsciously expressing his perplexed mind in the kennels and through the covers during the day. None of the gentlemen went to dress. Mr. Culbrett was indoors conversing with Rosamund Culling. 'What's come to them? the colonel asked of Mr.
And what is the Conservative misdemeanour which the man of honour in the party is to pay for? 'I'll talk to you about it by-and-by, said Nevil. He seemed to Cecilia too trusting, too simple, considering his cousin's undisguised tone of banter. Yet she could not put him on his guard. She would have had Mr. Culbrett do so.
'You! cried Beauchamp. At this juncture Stukely Culbrett closed the manuscript in his hands, and holding it out to Beauchamp, said: 'Here's your letter, Nevil. It's tolerably hard to decipher. It's mild enough; it's middling good pulpit. I like it. 'What have you got there? Colonel Halkett asked him. 'A letter of his friend Dr. Shrapnel on the Country. Read a bit, colonel. 'I? That letter!
'Just as you like, Mr. Culbrett remarked. It was his ironical habit of mind to believe that the wishes of men and women women as well as men were expressed by their utterances. 'But speak of Nevil to Colonel Halkett, said Rosamund, earnestly carrying on what was in her heart. 'Persuade the colonel you do not think Nevil foolish not more than just a little impetuous.
You have rather too much of that playing at grudges and dislikes at Steynham, with squibs, nicknames, and jests at things that well, that our stability is bound up in. I hate squibs. 'And I, said Beauchamp. Some shadow of a frown crossed him; but Stukely Culbrett's humour seemed to be a refuge. 'Protestant parson-not clergy, he corrected the colonel. 'Can't you hear Mr. Culbrett, Cecilia?
His idea of the Whigs being dead shows a head that can't read the country. He means himself for mankind, and is preparing to be the benefactor of a country parish. 'But as a naval officer? 'Excellent. Cecilia was convinced that Mr. Culbrett underestimated Beauchamp. Nevertheless the confidence expressed in Beauchamp's defeat reassured and pleased her.
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