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Updated: May 22, 2025
Barton gave her daughter one quick look, bit her lips, and, without another word, returned to Milord. Everything was decidedly going wrong; and to be annoyed by that gawk of a girl in a time like the present was unbearable. But Mrs. Barton never allowed her temper to master her, and in two minutes all memory of Alice had passed out of her mind, and she was talking business with Lord Dungory.
With a cutting stare and a few cold conventional words, they welcomed Olive and Alice home to the country again. Lord Dungory whispered something to Mrs. Barton. Olive passed across the room; the black coats gave way, and, as a white rose in a blood-coloured glass, her shoulders rose out of the red tulle.
As the girls left the breakfast-room one morning she said, as if asking their advice: 'I have just received an invitation from Dungory Castle; they are giving a tennis-party, and they want us to go to lunch. 'Oh! mamma, I don't want to go, cried Olive. 'And why, my dear?
What a pretty drive it is to Gort. 'Then, do you know a place on the left-hand side of the road, about a mile and a half from Dungory Castle? 'You mean Brookfield? 'Yes; that is our place. 'Then you are Miss Barton? 'Yes, I am Miss Barton; do you know father or mother? 'No, no; but I have heard the name in Galway. I was spending a few days with one of your neighbours.
Joseph hung over the fireplace; between the windows another Madonna stood on a half-moon, and when Lord Dungory said, 'For what we are going to receive, the Lord make us truly thankful, these pictures helped the company to realize a suitable, although momentary emotion. Turtle soup was handed round.
Barton for her hospitalities, and, if so, in what form he repaid his obligations to her, was, when friends drew together, a favourite topic of conversation in the county of Galway. It had been remarked that the Bartons never dined at Dungory Castle except on state occasions; and it was well-known that the Ladies Cullen hated Mrs.
This was too much, and, seeing the weary faces about him, Lord Dungory determined to change the subject of conversation: 'The end of government? he said; 'I am afraid that you would get many different answers to that question. Ask these young ladies; they will tell you, probably, that it is to have des beaux amants et des joyeuses amours, and I am not sure that they are not right. Mrs.
Captain Hibbert twisted his brown-gold moustache, and, with the critical gaze of the connoisseur, examined the undulating lines of the arms, the delicate waist, and the sloping hips: her skirts seemed to fall before his looks. Immediately after, the roaring of a gong was heard, and the form of the stately butler was seen approaching. Lord Dungory and Lady Jane exchanged looks.
Such was her criticism of life as she sat wearily answering Mrs. Gould's tiresome questions, not daring to approach her mother, who was laughing with Olive, Captain Hibbert, and Lord Dungory. Waltz after waltz had been played, and her ears reeked with their crying strain.
The glance exchanged was tempered in the hate of years; it was vindictive, cruel, terrible; it shone as menacingly as if the women had drawn daggers from their skirts, and Jane, obeying a sudden impulse, broke away from her sister, and called to Captain Hibbert. Fortunately he did not hear her, and, before she could speak again, Lord Dungory said: 'Jane, now, Jane, I beg of you Mrs.
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