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Updated: May 21, 2025
Harold Purling at a glance could read between the lines; he could trace effect to cause, and readily understood why his mother was so anxious for his return. "One of Lady Gayfeather's girls, is she? I never thought much of that lot. However but why on earth should Lady Calverly take my dear mother up in this way, at the eleventh hour?"
"You have a feeling heart, Phillipa. This is a sacred duty; I cannot object. But I shall see you again?" "As soon as I can return, dear Mrs. Purling if you will have me, that is to say." The story of Lady Gayfeather's illness was a mere fabrication. What summoned Phillipa to London was this note: "I must see you. Can you be at Cæcilia's on Saturday?
"Not quite; but I have looked into Max Müller, and know something of Monier Williams." And this was one of Lady Gayfeather's girls! Was this a new process, the last dodge in the perpetual warfare between maidens and mankind? Harold looked at the prodigy. In appearance she was quite unlike the conventional type of a London young lady of fashion.
Intrigue not necessarily base, but covered by the harmless phrase, "It would be so very nice" was at work to bring about a match between Miss Fanshawe and Harold Purling. She was one of a large family of girls and her father was an impoverished peer. Besides, her career so far had not been an unmixed success. Lady Gayfeather's young ladies had the reputation of being the "quickest" in the town.
There had been a terrible scandal, not many months old, and hardly forgotten yet, which had roused Lady Calverly to remove her cousin, Phillipa Fanshawe, from the evil influences of Lady Gayfeather's set. Whether or not the rescue had come in time it would be difficult to say.
Phillipa sat alone in Lady Gayfeather's drawing-room, when Mr. Jillingham was announced. "What does this mean?" she asked. "I'm broke, simply." "You don't look much like it." To say the truth, he did not; he never did. He had had his ups and downs; but if he was down he hid away in outer darkness; if you saw him at all, he was floating like a jaunty cork on the very top of the wave.
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