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Updated: June 28, 2025
But when the clock struck six that evening, Sir Edmund Hautley had not arrived. Miss Hautley was in a fever as nearly in one as it is in the nature of a cold, single lady of fifty-eight to go, when some overwhelming disappointment falls abruptly. According to arranged plans, Sir Edmund was to have been at home by middle day, crossing by the night boat from the continent.
It was a private matter, he said, a smile crossing his lips as he spoke; one entirely between himself and his father, and he could not speak of it. It had driven him abroad she believed, Miss Hautley remarked, vexed that she was still to remain in the dark. Yes, acquiesced Sir Edmund; it had driven him abroad and kept him there.
Presently he watched her plunge into a waltz; and just at that moment his eyes fell on Lionel. He had just entered; he was shaking hands with Sir Edmund Hautley. Jan made his way to them. "Have you seen Sibylla, Jan?" was the first question of Lionel to his brother. "I hear she has come."
West, Jan, Mr. Bitterworth, and Sir Rufus Hautley they thought how Mrs. Verner had changed, and how ill she looked; not that her florid complexion was any paler. She had, indeed, changed since the news of John Massingbird's death; and some of them believed that she would not be very long after Mr. Verner. They had assembled there for the purpose of hearing the will read. The desk of Mr.
Sir Henry was now on a visit to Sir Edmund Hautley and Decima: he was looking out for a suitable residence in the neighbourhood, where he meant to settle. This gathering at Verner's Pride to welcome Lionel, had been a thought of Sir Henry's and old Mr. Bitterworth's. "Why not give the poor an afternoon's holiday for once?" cried Sir Henry. "I will repay them the wages they must lose in taking it."
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