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Updated: June 27, 2025
No, it was no use! that equable deportment of Sir Hamilton and Philippa remained a mystery to her. She, however mere single Miss Dickenson could not of course guess how these two would see themselves, looking back, with all the years between of a growing Gwen and Adrian; to her, it was just the lapse of so much time, nothing more a year or so over the time she had known Philippa.
George's Fields, Dickenson and Berry were hung up on Kennington Common, but the sheriff of Surrey had orders at the same time to suffer his relations to take down the body of Dickenson in order to be interred, after its hanging up one day, which favour was granted on account of his father's service in the army, who was killed at his post in the late war.
Therefore it would never have done for Miss Dickenson to go into close analysis of the problems suggested by the meeting of two undoubted fiancés of years long past, and the inexplicable self-command with which they looked the present in the face. She had to be content with saying: "Of course we know nothing of the intentions of Providence.
What Dickenson could gain was surely his by right a thousand times over. He took the train for Walton, travelling first class, and treated with much deference by the officials on the line. As he alighted and passed through the booking-hall into the station-yard a voice hailed him. He looked up sharply.
He was really impossible; and, as we all know, what's impossible very seldom comes to pass. And this case was not among the exceptions. It wasn't them. But a revision of the relativities was necessary. When Miss Dickenson and the Hon. Percival did come in, Gwen was at the piano, and Adrian at the right distance for hearing. Nothing could have been more irreproachable.
In consequence of the depredations he was committing, Brigadier Dickenson, the commandant at Rangoon, and Commodore Lambert resolved to send a combined naval and military force to dislodge him.
Percival complimented himself internally on a greater spirituality, which can overlook such points mere clay? and discern a peculiar essence of soul in this lady which, had they met in her more palatable days, might have been not uncongenial to his own. Rather a pity! Miss Dickenson could identify a glow-worm and correct the ascription of its light to any fellow's cigar-end thrown away.
He made nothing of what one had thought would prove a cloud-veil tore it up, brushed it aside. He made nothing, too, of the powers of eyesight of those whose gaze dwelt on him over boldly. "It is them," said Miss Dickenson, referring to a half-recognised barouche that had turned the corner below. "But who on earth have they got with them? I can't see for my eyes."
Barbour, at Cadiz, I know; but where is he himself? 'I can't remember the name of the place, but he is not called Hale; you must remember that, Margaret. Notice the F. D. in every corner of the letters. He has taken the name of Dickenson. I wanted him to have been called Beresford, to which he had a kind of right, but your father thought he had better not.
Then he went to his room for his hand-lamp, as described, and after satisfying himself about that conflagration's non-existence, was just in time to cross Miss Dickenson, a waif overdue, and wonder what on earth had made that very spirit and image of all conformity guilty of such a lapse. Then followed his interview with Mr. Torrens already detailed. Perhaps the foregoing should have come first.
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