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Updated: June 28, 2025
"They said you had a lover," said Mrs. Dearmer. "It would have been kinder if they had given me a hundred, wouldn't it? That would, indeed, have been to praise me mightily and declare me irresistible." "You will not find women so generous as that," laughed Heriot. "I thought there was a more subtle meaning in the declaration.
We get out at Dearmer, and we're only three miles from Brookfield." "What they call a loop line," assisted John, "because it's in the shape of a loop." "It's not so bad as it might be," admitted Beatrice grudgingly, after studying the map, "but it's five miles home from Dearmer; and what about my trunk?" I sighed and pulled out a pencil. "It's very simple. We write a telegram:
"That woman maddens me." "Yes, she is the fact is, you ought not to be here." "Not be here!" she exclaimed. "This is my home. It is she who ought not to be here. I shall speak to my uncle." "Wait! Have a little patience," said Fellowes. "After all, she is Mrs. Dearmer, a lady of fashion, a lady who has been to Court. You would be astonished at the power she wields in certain directions.
It seemed quite evident that Sir John had not suggested to his guests that they should treat his niece in any special manner, and their conversation was less reticent than ever. "You blush very easily," laughed Mrs. Dearmer, "but that pleases the men. I used to be the same, and devoutly wish I had not lost the art."
"They are kisses which are not at your disposal," answered the lady, but she looked at Fellowes. "Gad! I believe you may have the kiss without the trouble of earning it, Fellowes," laughed Branksome. "I can go bail for the goods." Mistress Dearmer pouted, but the laugh was against her until Fellowes came to the rescue. "You shall have a sonnet," he said. "You may pay if you think it worthy."
For a short time at Oxford he had given the Church a trial, even felt real admiration for it, under the influence of his friend Juke, and after hearing sermons from Father Waggett, Dr. Dearmer, and Canon Adderley. But he had soon given it up, seen it wouldn't do; the above-mentioned priests were not representative; the Church as a whole canted, was hypocritical and Potterish, and must go.
"My dear lady, there would be too many lovers to call me to account for my presumption," Rosmore answered. "Branksome is right," said Mrs. Dearmer. "Take a woman by force or not at all. She loves a desperate man. His desperation and overriding of all convention do homage to her. I never yet met the virtue that could stand against such an assault."
Dearmer was in the fashion; Barbara knew that, for even at Lady Bolsover's she had often been made to blush, but she had never heard in St. James's Square a tithe of the ribaldry which assailed her at the Abbey. It was natural, perhaps, that Barbara Lanison should propound a problem to herself. Was she foolish to resent what was little more than the fashion of the day?
When you go to a dinner-party they put in front of you five different chalices, of five weird and heraldic shapes, to symbolise five different kinds of wine; an insane extension of ritual from which Mr. Percy Dearmer would fly shrieking. A bishop wears a mitre; but he is not thought more or less of a bishop according to whether you can see the very latest curves in his mitre.
Percy Dearmer of the Fellowship Services at Kensington; b. 1876, y.d. of late Sir Thomas Royden, 1st Bart. of Frankby Hall, Birkenhead. Educ.: Cheltenham Ladies' College; Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford.
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