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Updated: June 7, 2025
Marshall Wace was, therefore, bidden to provide peaceful entertainment, read aloud presently, perhaps, sing to them at such time as digestion bad for the voice when in process might be supposed complete. The young man obeyed, armed with Tennyson's Maud and a volume of selected lyrics. His performance fairly started General Frayling furtively vanished in search of a mild siesta.
She was too wise a woman to waste words on her sister Elizabeth, who, in consequence of having had them in abundance to squander all her life long, had lost all sense of their value, and would have failed to appreciate the force which they collect in the careful keeping of such silent folk as Mrs. Orton Beg. Mrs. Frayling was not able to accept Lady Adeline's invitation that year.
Mrs. Frayling set herself to produce a very pretty piece of sentiment, nicely turned, decorated, worded, and succeeded to her own satisfaction. Might not she too, at this rate, claim possession of the literary gift under stress of circumstance? The idea was a new one. It amused her. And what if Damaris elected to show this precious effusion to her father, Sir Charles?
Frayling began, gathering herself up slowly, and standing over her daughter; "if you would even consent to live in the same house with him until you get used to him and forget all this nonsense, I am sure he would agree. For he is dreadfully afraid of scandal, Evadne. I never knew a man more so.
For when he, Carteret, and Charles Verity, strolling in all innocence along the shore path back from St. Augustin, had to their infinite astonishment met her and her attendant swains face to face, she hadn't turned a hair. Her nerve was invincible. After clasping the hand of each in turn with the prettiest enthusiasm, she had introduced "My husband, General Frayling Mr.
Frayling learn the amount of it too just casually, in the course of conversation, and then Everyone said Mrs. Frayling was doing her best to "place" her cousin-by-marriage, to secure him a well-endowed wife. Warm wind, hot sun, the confused sound and movement of a great southern port, all the traffic and trade of it, man and beast sweating in the splendid glare.
There was a temporary lull at Fraylingay after that last battle, during which Mrs. Frayling wrote to her daughter freely and frequently.
He smoked cigars, read novels, and said nothing except in answer to such remarks as were specially addressed to him, and then he confined himself to the shortest and simplest form of rejoinder possible. "The dear fellow's patience is exemplary," Mrs. Frayling remarked to her husband as they went to bed one night. "He conceals his own feelings quite, and never utters a complaint."
He did not touch her; being careful in the matter of caresses, reverent of her person, chary of claiming parental privileges unasked. "In the making of Henrietta Frayling," he went on, "by some accident soul was left out. She hasn't any. She does not know it. Let us hope she never will know it, for it is too late now for the omission to be rectified." "Are you laughing at me?"
But her tears defied the primitive process of winking. Not so cheaply could she rid herself of their smart and the blurred distorted vision they occasioned. She pulled out her handkerchief petulantly and wiped them. Then schooled herself to a colder, more moderate and reasonable temper. And, so doing, her thought turned gratefully to Mrs. Frayling.
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