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Updated: June 25, 2025
Old Mr. and Mrs. Foljambe had actually been unreasonable enough to try to exchange the best rooms, which they had chosen for themselves in the winter for shabbier, cheaper quarters during the summer, when the husband and wife might be occasionally absent paying visits.
It wasn't because she talked, she somehow caused other people to talk. "Tommy Luton hasn't got measles," said Mrs Weston. "I always said he hadn't, though there are measles about. He came to walk as usual this morning, and is going to sing in the carols tonight." She suddenly stopped. Georgie gave an imploring glance at Foljambe, and looked at the champagne glasses. She took no notice.
I am at this present ill in favour of my Lady Foljambe, and I scarce know if she will come for my asking." The Countess laughed the curt, bitter laugh which Amphillis had so often heard from her lips. "Tell her she may please herself," she said; "but that if she be not here ere the hour, I'll come to her. I am not yet so sick that I cannot crawl to the further end of the house.
His son proved a waster and a prodigal, and from him the house was bought by our friend George Heriot, who, finding, like Sir Paul, the house more than sufficiently ample for his accommodation, left the Foljambe apartments, or Saint Roque's rooms, as they were called, in the state in which he found them.
But the post-script was interesting, for it told him that she had asked Foljambe to give her his copy of Siegfried.... Georgie strolled down past The Hurst before dinner. Mozart was silent now, but there came out of the open windows the most amazing hash of sound, which he could just recognise as being the piano arrangement of the duet between Brunnhilde and Siegfried at the end.
Cloth of gold, diaper, baldekin, velvet, tissue, samite, satin, tartaryn, samitelle, sarcenet, taffata, sindon, cendall, say all of them varieties of silken stuffs ribbons of silk, satin, velvet, silver, and gold, were heaped together in brilliant and bewildering confusion of beautiful colours. Lady Foljambe, Mrs Margaret, Marabel, and Agatha, were all looking on.
"Would it like your Grace," asked Lady Foljambe, rather stiffly, "to speak in plain language, and say what you would have?" "`Plain language!" repeated the Countess. "In very deed, but I reckoned I had given thee some of that afore now!
"Howbeit, my mistress, there is no harm you should know is there, Master Dugan? that you be bounden for the manor of Hazelwood, some six miles to the north of Derby, where dwell Sir Godfrey Foljambe and his dame." "No harm; so you tarry there at this present," said Master Dugan. "Ay, I've reached my hostel," was the response. "Then my Lady Foljambe is she that I must serve?"
The chosen friend of the Honourable Lady Foljambe was the Abbess of Saint Roque's Nunnery, like herself a conscientious, rigid, and devoted Papist.
Another girl was gathering flowers, and an elderly woman was coming towards the tree from behind. Saint Oly conducted Amphillis to the lady who sat under the tree. "Dame," said he, "here, under your good leave, is Mistress Amphillis Neville, that is come to you from London town, to serve her you wot of." This, then, was Lady Foljambe.
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