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Updated: May 27, 2025
Then, at an invitation from Bernard Dennant, he played cricket for the Manor of Holm Oaks against a neighbouring house; in the evening there was dancing oh the lawn. The fair hair was now turned up, but the eyes were quite unchanged. Their steps went together, and they outlasted every other couple on the slippery grass.
"Well," returned Mrs. Dennant, "I hate doin' things just because other people do them, and I sha'n't get it." "Good!" Mrs. Dennant marked the catalogue. "Here 's Linseed's last, of course; though I must say I don't care for him, but I suppose we ought to have it in the house. And there's Quality's 'The Splendid Diatribes': that 's sure to be good, he's always so refined.
A desire to get close to her, half fear, half ache, a sense of futility and bafflement, an inner burning, made him feel as though a flame were licking at his heart. Just as Shelton was starting to walk back to Oxford he met Mr. Dennant coming from a ride. Antonia's father was a spare man of medium height, with yellowish face, grey moustache, ironical eyebrows, and some tiny crow's-feet.
Dennant, with that large frankness of intrusion upon doubtful subjects which may be made by certain people in a certain way, "but, after all, one couldn't ask them to meet anybody." "No," the Connoisseur assented. "I used to know Foliot. Thousand pities. They say she was a very pretty woman." "Oh, not pretty!" said Mrs. Dennant! "more interestin than pretty, I should say."
You're not off already?" and, laying his hand on Shelton's arm, he proposed to walk a little way with him across the fields. This was the first time they had met since the engagement; and Shelton began to nerve himself to express some sentiment, however bald, about it. He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and looked askance at Mr. Dennant.
A look at Benjy, contained and cheery, restored him. Ah, the lucky devil! He would not have to come here any more! and the thought of the last evening he himself would be spending before long flooded his mind with a sweetness that was almost pain. "Benjy, I'll play you a hundred up!" said young Bill Dennant. Stroud and the racing man went to watch the game; Shelton was left once more to reverie.
But Shelton did not answer; he was thinking deeply. The saying of John Noble's, "He's really a most interesting person," grew more and more upon his nerves; it seemed to describe the Dennant attitude towards this stranger within their gates. They treated him with a sort of wonder on the "don't touch" system, like an object in an exhibition.
We shall get run in," grumbled her brother, with a chuckle. They reined in round the bend and jogged more soberly down on the far side; still not a word from her to Shelton, and Shelton in his turn spoke only to Bill Dennant. He was afraid to speak to her, for he knew that her mind was dwelling on this chance forbidden meeting in a way quite different from his own.
Dennant and packed them in the pocket of his shooting-jacket. There was one where she was standing just below her little brother, who was perched upon a wall. In her half-closed eyes, round throat, and softly tilted chin, there was something cool and watchful, protecting the ragamuffin up above her head. This he kept apart to be looked at daily, as a man says his prayers.
Dennant, and left it on his table. After doing this he threw himself once more upon his bed, and this time fell into a doze. He woke with a start, dressed, and let himself quietly out. The likeness of his going to that of Ferrand struck him. "Both outcasts now," he thought.
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