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Updated: May 28, 2025
John Derringham meanwhile had gone with his hostess and some of the rest of the party, Mr. Hanbury-Green among them, to inspect the small golf links Mrs. Cricklander was having constructed in the park. Her country-house must be complete with suitable amusements. She had taken all the Wendover shooting, too, and what she could get of Lord Graceworth's beyond. "You cannot drag people into the wilds and then bore them to death," she said. What she most enjoyed was to scintillate to a company of two or three, and fascinate them all into a desire for a tête-
Everything Conservative is vieux jeu now, she says, and she must go with the tide. And from this the letter wandered on to personal matters. Meanwhile John Derringham had received Mrs. Porrit's answer and had ascertained the Professor's probable address, and was joyously speeding his way on to Rome.
And at last he sat at his writing-table and wrote a letter to his friend and former pupil, John Derringham, in which he described his arrival at his new home, and his outlook, and made a casual reference to the two maiden ladies in these terms: "The park and house is still owned by two antediluvian spinsters of the name of La Sarthe exquisite specimens of Early Victorian gentility.
The man upon her left hand was intelligent, and was gazing at her with the rapt attention beauty always commands, and she was uttering her finest platitudes. And once John Derringham leant back in his chair, when no one was observing him, and laughed aloud. The supreme mockery of it all! And in five weeks from this night this woman would be his wife! His wife! Ye gods!
Arabella found her employer extremely trying during the Saturday and Sunday, and was almost in tears when she wrote to her mother. Mr. Derringham has plainly determined not to be ensnared yet. If this did not render M. E. so difficult to please, the situation would be very instructive to watch.
Then she glanced at him stealthily as he stared out at the sea, while she thought: "I am sure some awful tragedy is here underneath; it is not only his broken ankle and his illness that has made him such a wreck. I wish I could help them. I would not care a snap for Cis, who is a rattlesnake if she wants something." "When was it, exactly, you saw her?" John Derringham asked.
For John Derringham, at this period of his life, burnt the candle at both ends and in the middle, too, if it could add to the pleasure or benefit of his calculated career, mapped out for himself by himself. A sensation almost of wrath rose in his breast at his old master's words.
The rain kept off for his journey to Bristol, and his business was got through with rapidity. And if the registrar did connect the name of John Derringham, barrister-at-law, of the Temple, London, with John Derringham, the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, he was a man of discretion and said nothing about it. It was quite late when Mr.
The garden must be the most beautiful in the country and he knew so much about gardens, he could tell her exactly which style would suit the house best. John Derringham was in a bad temper. That unaccountable sense of a discordant note with himself still stayed with him.
Absolutely dumbfounded, he groped his way back to the bench, and sitting down buried his head in his hands. Surely it was all a dream, then, and he had been drunk with the Professor's Falernian wine and had wandered here and slept. But, God of all the nights, what an exquisite dream! The half-moon set, and the night became much darker before John Derringham rose from his seat by the bench.
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