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Updated: May 21, 2025
He pointed out that it was of no real consequence. She could not tell him that if Tims suspected anything before the decisive step was taken, one of the safeguards under which she took it might fail. They found no exit at the end of the suite of rooms, still less any place of concealment. Tims and Mr. Fitzalan came upon them discussing the genuineness of a picture in the last room but one.
Her heart ached. After the play Fitzalan took the authors and the leading lady, Constance Francklyn, and Miss Lenox to supper in a private room at Rector's. This was Miss Francklyn's first trial in a leading part.
She was no correspondent; and an examination, followed by the serious illness of her next-door neighbor Mr. Fitzalan, a solitary man with a small post in the British Museum had prevented her from visiting Oxford during Mildred's last invasion.
Edmund Fitzalan was premier Earl as Earl of Surrey, which title he acquired by his marriage with Alesia, sister and heir of John de Warrenne, last Earl of Surrey of the original male line. Probably owing to the great mortality among the nobles caused by the French war, a man who survived fifty was regarded as very old in the reign of Edward the Third.
Fitzalan, in the course of a conscientious survey of all the pictures on the walls, had reached this point in their progress. The window-seat on which Goring and Mildred were sitting was visible through a doorway, and Tims had on her strongest glasses. Since her engagement, Tims's old-maidish bringing up seemed to be bearing fruit for the first time.
You see, I was brought up to be stingy, and I enjoy it. He thought of course I was a pauper, and proposed we should pauper along together. He was quite upset when he found I was an heiress. Wasn't it sweet of him?" Mildred said it was. "Flora Fitzalan!" breathed Tims, clasping her hands and smiling into space. "Isn't it a pretty name? It's always been my dream to have a pretty name."
Even if it was so, still she must not think it. She must say to herself over and over again "Brent or no Brent, I shall get on I shall get on" until she had silenced the last disheartening doubt. Miss Francklyn, with Fitzalan on her left and Spenser on her right, was seated opposite Susan.
Seeing nothing of human life now, she imagined all the more of what she had seen. Where did her dignity come from? By a latent vein from Alcinous' line, her father hailing from Phaeacia's isle? or from Fitzalan and De Vere, her maternal grandfather having had a cousin in the peerage? Perhaps it was the gift of Heaven a happy convergence of natural laws.
"Until you see whether you can do anything with me or not?" "Just so. You are living with Spenser?" "Yes." Susan could have wished his tone less matter-of-fact. "How is he getting on?" "He and Sperry are doing a play for Fitzalan." "Really? That's good. He has talent. If he'll learn of Sperry and talk less and work more, and steadily, he'll make a lot of money. You are not tied to him in any way?"
She smiled, shrugged her shoulders. Sperry small and thin, a weather-beaten, wooden face suggesting Mr. Punch, sly keen eyes, theater in every tone and gesture Sperry pushed the scenario hastily to completion and was so successful with Fitzalan that on Sunday afternoon he brought two hundred and fifty dollars, Spenser's half of the advance money.
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