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Updated: May 11, 2025
But if Cynthia Clarke threw Dion Leith away, and he fell into promiscuous degradation, then surely Rosamund's nature would rise up in inevitable revolt. Even if she came to Constantinople then it would surely be too late. Lady Ingleton had seen clearly enough into the mind of Cynthia Clarke, but there was hidden from her the greater part of a human drama not yet complete.
"Where's jolly old Ratman?" inquired Tom, when the family presently assembled for breakfast. "Tired with his journey, no doubt," said Mrs Ingleton. As no one disputed this theory, and Jill's exchange of glances with her champion passed unheeded, there seemed every prospect of the meal passing off peaceably. But Tom, as usual, contrived to improve the occasion in the wrong direction.
Mrs Ingleton, ill herself, was far too painfully absorbed in her boy's danger to lend an ear to the tender nothings of her sympathetic kinsman. And the whole party were so possessed with the notion that Mr Armstrong was something of a hero, that any suggestion to the contrary was just then clearly inopportune. The main fact, however, was that Roger Ingleton, Minor dear lad was very ill indeed.
What was the old dotard," the old dotard, by the way, was Captain Oliphant's private manner of referring to the lamented "dear one," whose name so often trembled on his lips in public, "what was the old dotard thinking about? At any rate, I should like to know a little more about the fellow myself." With this laudable intention he questioned Mrs Ingleton next morning.
Preston looked after her, standing with legs wide apart on the hearth-rug. "It's none of my fault, I assure you," he said. "I've been tryin' to rope her for the last two years. But she's so damn' shy. Can't get near her, by George." "Really?" smiled Mrs. Ingleton. "Perhaps you have not gone quite the right way to work. I think I shall have to take a hand in the game and see what I can do."
"You and I met at least we were in the same room once at Tippie Chetwinde's," said Lady Ingleton, almost pleading with her visitor. "I heard you sing." "Yes, I remember. I told Father Robertson so." "I dare say you think it very strange my coming here in this way." In spite of the strong effort of her will Lady Ingleton was feeling with every moment more painfully embarrassed.
Something in the handwriting of the letter particularly aroused the curiosity of the trespasser, who, being, as has been said, of an inquiring disposition, ventured to look at it more closely. "To be given unopened into the hands of Roger Ingleton, junior, on his twentieth birthday."
The yapping and the investigations created a feeling of general restlessness and an almost inevitable movement, which invariably led to the speedy departure of the unwelcome guests; who went, as Lady Ingleton said, "not knowing why." Enough that they went! The dogs were rewarded with lumps of sugar as are the canine performers in a circus.
"Can't you play something?" he said to her in desperation as they entered the drawing-room after dinner. She looked at bun, her wide brows slightly raised. "Well?" he questioned impatiently. "Ask Mrs. Ingleton first!" she said in a rapid whisper. Mrs. Ingleton caught it, however. She had the keen senses of a lynx. "Now, Sylvia, my child, come here!" she commanded playfully.
She knows my wishes, but as Robert Ratman she will not hear a word of it. As Roger Ingleton, the elder, you may depend on it the matter will take another view. All depends on your success there. When that's achieved, the rest will come if you give her time." Mr Ratman sneered. "You are a glib talker, Oliphant. I admire you. Now listen. You want credit, and you know how to buy it.
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