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Updated: June 7, 2025
"NOT Frida to you, if you please, Mr. Ingledew," she said as stiffly as she could manage. "You know it isn't right. Mrs. Monteith, you must call me." But she wasn't as angry, somehow, at the liberty he had taken as she would have been in anybody else's case; he was so very peculiar. Bertram Ingledew paused and checked himself.
Enid, Enid come here!" He had seen her in the conservatory, which ran along one side of the house. He and Mr. Ingledew were sitting in the library, and through its half-open glass door he had caught sight of the girl's white gown amongst the flowers. She turned instantly at his call. "Did you want me, uncle?" "Yes, dear.
Vane was said to be "less strong" than usual; the spring weather tried her; she must be kept quiet, the doctor said, and, if possible, tranquil in mind. "God bless my soul, isn't she tranquil in mind?" the General had almost shouted, when Mr. Ingledew gave this opinion. "What else can she be?
Ingledew," she said, looking up at him reproachfully, "you can't mean to say you think my brother could marry the parlour-maid!" Bertram saw at a glance he had once more unwittingly run his head against one of the dearest of these strange people's taboos; but he made no retort openly.
Ingledew was always very deferential to the Squire of the parish "what I meant was more perhaps that Mrs. Vane requires perfect freedom from all anxiety for the future than that she is suffering from uneasiness of mind at present. Possibly Mrs.
I want you quietly to stop taking it for a week, and to stop drinking lemonade or orange-water at night. In a week's time let us see how you feel. If you are no better, I will talk to Ingledew myself. Will you promise me that? Say, 'Yes, Maurice." "Yes, Maurice I promise you." "And one more thing, my own dearest. When that nightmare attacks you again, try to conquer your fear of it.
"Oh, yes, naturally, just the few things one always takes in a vade-mecum," Bertram Ingledew answered, with a gracefully deprecatory wave of the hand, which Philip thought pretty enough, but extremely foreign. "Beyond that, nothing. I felt it would be best, you see, to set oneself up in things of the country in the country itself.
As he spoke, for the first time it really came home to Frida's mind that Bertram Ingledew, standing there before her, regarded in very truth the Polynesian chief and Sir Lionel Longden as much about the same sort of unreasoning people savages to be argued with and cajoled if possible; but if not, then to be treated with calm firmness and force, as an English officer on an exploring expedition might treat a wrathful Central African kinglet.
Somehow, when Bertram Ingledew let it once be felt he did not wish to be questioned on any particular point, even women managed to restrain their curiosity: and he would have been either a very bold or a very insensitive man who would have ventured to continue questioning him any further.
If he was not a lunatic, then surely he must be this celebrated Perpignan murderer, whom everybody was talking about, and whom the French police were just then engaged in hunting down for extradition. "No; I brought none with me on purpose," Mr. Ingledew replied, as innocently as ever. "I didn't feel quite sure about the ways, or the customs, or the taboos of England.
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