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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Now, Dick," the Honourable Mrs. Dennant said, in her decisive drawl, "I don't think it 's right to put ideas into Antonia's head." "Ideas!" murmured Shelton in confusion. "We all know," continued Mrs. Dennant, "that things are not always what they ought to be." Shelton looked at her; she was seated at her writing-table, addressing in her large, free writing a dinner invitation to a bishop.
Is the shrine invisible?" Shelton grinned, said "Yes," and went on looking. He was not fortunate. In the dining-room sat Mrs. Dennant, making up her list of books. "Do give me your opinion, Dick," she said. "Everybody 's readin' this thing of Katherine Asterick's; I believe it's simply because she's got a title." "One must read a book for some reason or other," answered Shelton.
Here was the answer to the question he had asked all day: "How have things come to such a pass?" and he began to feel compassion for her. Poor child! She could not jilt him; there was something vulgar in the word! Never should it be said that Antonia Dennant had accented him and thrown him over. No lady did these things! They were impossible!
Issue: Alice, b. 184-, m. 186-Algernon Dennant, Esq., of Holm Oaks, Cross Eaton, Oxfordshire." He put down the Peerage and took up the 'Landed Gentry': "Dennant, Algernon Cuffe, eldest son of the late Algernon Cuffe Dennant, Esq., J. P., and Irene, 2nd daur. of the Honble. Philip and Lady Lillian March Mallow; ed. Eton and Ch. Ch., Oxford, J. P. for Oxfordshire. Residence, Holm Oaks," etc., etc.
He saw Bill Dennant, posting after them, and, seized by a sense of the ridiculous, lifted his hat, and galloped off. The rain was coming down in torrents now, and every one was scurrying for shelter. He looked back from the bend, and could still make out Antonia riding leisurely, her face upturned, and revelling in the shower.
D' ye know, you're a lucky feller!" The speaker was an old baronet, with small eyes, a dusky, ruddy face, and peculiar hail-fellow-well-met expression, at once morose and sly. He was always hard up, but being a man of enterprise knew all the best people, as well as all the worst, so that he dined out every night. "You're a lucky feller," he repeated; "he's got some deuced good shootin', Dennant!
A photograph hung in his bedroom at Holm Oaks of a group round the hall door; the Honourable Charlotte Penguin, Mrs. Dennant, Lady Bonington, Halidome, Mr. Dennant, and the stained-glass man all were there; and on the left-hand side, looking straight in front of her, Antonia.
It 's dreadful to have to think out new ones for oneself." And he awoke. His dream had had in it the element called Art, for, in its gross absurdity, Mrs. Dennant had said things that showed her soul more fully than anything she would have said in life. "No," said a voice quite close, behind the hedge, "not many Frenchmen, thank the Lord! A few coveys of Hungarians over from the Duke's.
The minister was an old and venerable-looking divine of the name of Dennant, who was always writing little poems—I remember the opening lines of one, ‘A while ago when I was nought, And neither body, soul, nor thought’— and whose ‘Soul Prosperity,’ a volume of sober prose, reached a second edition. His grandson, Mr.
Dennant, who was talking to his youngest daughter, "you'll have no chance whatever not the least little bit of chance." "Father, what nonsense! You know we shall beat your heads off!" "Before it 's too late, then, I will eat a muffin. Shelton, pass the muffins!" But in making this request, Mr. Dennant avoided looking in his face. Antonia, too, seemed to keep her eyes away from him.
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