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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Try Custance! Who the dickens is Custance?" the secretary asked the president. "Blessed if I know. Ask Gurner; he is sure to know," the president answered. In the club Gurner was nicknamed the Grey Town Directory. He was regarded as a local Burke, who could fire off the pedigrees and performances of every family in the district.
But he was so quiet and unobtrusive that few persons paid any great attention to him. It was indeed entirely by chance that the Intellectual Society secured his services. The secretary wrote to an artist friend in Melbourne, suggesting a lecture; the answer was short and concise: "Sorry I cannot find time to amuse you. Try Claude Custance; he knows more about art than any other man in Australia."
What saw you ever in Custance of Langley to give you the thought that she should thus lightly sell her soul for gold, or weigh your paltry acres in the balances against her truth and honour?" Every nerve of the outraged soul was quivering with excitement. In the calm even tones which responded, there was no more excitement than in an iceberg. "Fair Cousin, you do but utterly mistake.
Nevertheless, there are some exceptions, as we may see by the comparatively large number of lady doctors, and by the fact that only the narrow-minded policy of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons prevented Miss Custance, who had studied at the Edinburgh New Veterinary College, from obtaining her diploma, to which she was fully entitled by her scientific attainments and practical experience.
Sylvia Custance imagined that she had at last won Denis Quirk's admiration. Had she listened to him coldly dissecting her for the benefit of one of her chosen bodyguard, she would have suffered a bitter disillusionment. Denis was walking home with this admirer, a mere boy, to whose unopened eyes Sylvia Custance was the ideal of women. "Did you ever see such another woman as Mrs.
Kent and York conversed in a low tone for some minutes. When the subject seemed exhausted, York turned quickly round to his sister, as if a sudden idea had occurred to him. "Lady Custance! You remember my Lord of Kent, trow? though methinks you have scarce met together sithence we were all childre." Constance lifted up her eyes, and offered her hand to Kent's kiss of homage.
"An' it like you, Madam, you must arise and come with me," said the Sheriff bluntly, as Maude bent over the sufferer. Then, with a low moan, she sank on her knees by the bedside, and a cry which was not all bitterness broke from her. "`And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Custance'!" "What matter, wife?" said Bertram in a tone of sudden apprehension.
"In Tewkesbury Abbey, as methought." "A truce to thy fooling, child! Thou wist well enough that I would say my Lord of Kent." "How lookest I should wit, Custance? We sisters of Saint Clare be no news-mongers. Well, so far as I knowledge, my Lord of Kent is with the Court. I saw him at Westminster a month gone." "Is it well with him?" "Very well, I would say, from what I saw."
She chose the morning, when Kathleen was busy and could not accompany her, and she took her sketching book; but most of her time was spent in watching Custance, and absorbing his art.
"But, Custance, the King's Highness asketh not thee to deny that thou wert wed unto my Lord of Kent, but only to allow openly that the same were not good in law." "Can a law go backwards-way?" "Fair Cousin, the priest was excommunicate afore." "God wot if he were!" said Custance shrewdly. "Bishops use not to leave their letters tarry two months on the road, child.
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