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Updated: June 2, 2025
When Philippa's turn comes, she goes to the piano knowing that Paul is watching her, she feels he has guessed that something is up, so tries to mislead him by singing a merry song, but he is not taken in. Helmdon produces a banjo and sings several nigger songs lustily.
'Don't you think a little music would be nice, says Miss Appleby, 'nothing enlivens one so much on a wet day. 'Let us have some by all means, says Helmdon. 'I say Tommy, I'm sure you'll honour us with a song, eh, what? Tommy is a very juvenile young man, with light hair parted down the middle, a red face, and pince-nez. 'Anything you like, he responds gaily.
Philippa is forbidden by Mabel to put her nose out of doors, who then retires to Lady Dadford's private boudoir where she spends the afternoon. 'What shall we do? asks Lord Helmdon, gazing helplessly round on the remaining guests. 'Miss Seaton, suggest something, do! 'I can't think of anything, answers Lippa, longing for some distraction to her thoughts.
'Nothing's up, says Jimmy, 'but I've got into a confounded business with Harkness over that mare of his, that ought to have run in the Oaks, I've laid more than I've got, against her winning the Ledger, and I don't know what on earth to do 'Do nothing, says Helmdon, 'it'll all shake down somehow, and the Ledger's weeks off
'Who is it, he goes on, not heeding her, 'is it Helmdon or Dalrymple? he is so close that she can feel his breath on her cheek, 'ah, I can see by your eyes it is Dalrymple? This is too much, and with a sudden movement she raises her other hand and gives him a good box on the ear.
'I'm nearly done; these two are seated in the bow window of a well-known club. 'You don't mean it, what! replies Helmdon, better known as Chubby. 'I do, all the same, says Jimmy, testily, 'heat, money, everything, in fact! 'That comes of racing, my good boy, this from Chubby, in a sort of I-told-you-so tone.
'Oh! don't you know him, says Miss Boothly. 'He's Lord Helmdon; he has come in the place of Mr Dalrymple, who at the last moment wrote to say he could not come, and so we asked Lord Helmdon, he's so nice; we always fall back upon him when anyone fails us.
It is four o'clock, and Street is wearing a very deserted appearance although it is July. The cab-drivers are more or less fast asleep in attitudes far from suggesting comfort, the sentries on guard at Palace look almost suffocated in their bearskins, and a comparative quiet is reigning over the great metropolis. 'Do you know, Helmdon, says Jimmy Dalrymple.
'Well, I'm glad that's over, ain't you? says Mrs Dalrymple, who is comfortably seated in a railway carriage, her husband opposite. 'Very, replies Jimmy, looking unutterable things at her. 'I say though, how late you were. I thought you were never coming, and Helmdon had the fidgets.
'Well, yes, replies Dalrymple, 'I merely observed that you were an ass. 'Thanks, awfully, but why did it strike you just now? asks Lord Helmdon, sweetly. 'Don't know, I'm sure 'Ah! I thought so, but look here, why are you so down in the mouth, there's something up I'm sure, and Chubby scrutinises his friend gravely.
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