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Updated: June 27, 2025
"But one of your Ulster papers has openly boasted that arrangements have been made for a 'powerful Continental monarch' to help an Ulster rebellion." "Which paper?" snatched Lady Frensham. Mr. Britling hesitated. Mr. Philbert supplied the name. "I saw it. It was the Irish Churchman." "You two have got your case up very well," said Lady Frensham. "I didn't know Mr. Britling was a party man."
He was like a lover who calls his lady a foolish rogue, and is startled to find that facts and strangers do literally agree with him. But it was so difficult to resolve Lady Frensham and the Irish squabble generally into anything better than idiotic mischief, that for a time he was unusually silent wrestling with the problem, and Mr. Direck got the conversational initiative.
Direck was suddenly reminded of a girl cousin of his who had been expelled from college for some particularly elaborate and aimless rioting.... "May I say something to you, Lady Frensham," said Mr. Britling, "that you have just said to me? Do you realise that this Carsonite campaign is dragging these islands within a measurable distance of civil war?"
Lady Frensham, bridling over Lady Homartyn's party, and for a time leaving Mr. Britling, hurried on to tell of the newest developments of the great feud. She had a wonderful description of Lady Londonderry sitting opposite "that old rascal, the Prime Minister," at a performance of Mozart's Zauberflöte. "If looks could kill!" cried Lady Frensham with tremendous gusto.
"Young Nigel Loring!" said he. "He swore that he would do us scathe, and in this way he has done it." "How know you this?" "Six weeks ago he was seen day by day fishing for pike at the great Lake of Frensham. Twice at night he has been met with a bundle of straw under his arm on the Hankley Down. Well, I wot that the straw was wet and that a live pike lay within it." The Abbot shook his head.
Povey with all the treasures of the house at Axe. And it was as good as ever; better than ever. Dr. Stirling often expressed the desire for a corner cupboard like Mrs. Baines's corner cupboard. One item had been added: the 'Peel' compote which Matthew Peel-Swynnerton had noticed in the dining- room of the Pension Frensham.
"I see, Mr. Britling, you'd hand us all over to Jim Larkin!" "I'd hand you all over to Sir Horace Plunkett " "That doctrinaire dairyman!" cried Lady Frensham, with an air of quite conclusive repartee. "You're hopeless, Mr. Britling. You're hopeless."
She often explained that her name was not Frensham; but in vain. Every visitor inevitably and persistently addressed her according to the sign. It was past the general comprehension that the proprietress of the Pension Frensham might bear another name than Frensham.
There was a time when the Lorings had held the country from the North Downs to the Lakes of Frensham, and when their grim castle-keep rising above the green meadows which border the River Wey had been the strongest fortalice betwixt Guildford Castle in the east and Winchester in the west.
The glitter of four thousand francs in cash, and freedom, was too tempting. Thus Sophia became the proprietress of the Pension Frensham in the cold and correct Rue Lord Byron. She made room in it for nearly all her other furniture, so that instead of being under-furnished, as pensions usually are, it was over-furnished.
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