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Updated: June 22, 2025
And Margaret looked into his honest-seeming eyes and, in a panic, knew that her traitor lips were forming "yes." "That would be rather unfortunate, wouldn't it?" she asked, with a smile. "You see, it was only an hour ago I promised to marry Mr. Kennaston." "Kennaston!" Billy gasped. "You you don't mean that you care for him, Peggy?"
I grieve to admit it, but with Billy's scruples she hadn't the slightest sympathy. Then Kennaston cried, suddenly: "Why, you're mad, Kathleen! Woods wants to marry you! Why, he's heels over head in love with Miss Hugonin!" Miss Hugonin turned to Mr. Woods with a little intake of the breath. No, I shall not attempt to tell you what Billy saw in her countenance.
Kennaston could not feel quite at ease with Margaret, brazen it as he might with devil-may-carish flippancy; and Kathleen had by this an inkling as to how matters stood between Margaret and Billy, and was somewhat puzzled thereat, and loved the former in consequence no more than any Christian female is compelled to love the woman who, either unconsciously or with deliberation, purloins her ancient lover.
Nor are the two universes separated by any tight wall which the fancy must leap over: they flow with exquisite caprice one into another, as indeed they always do in the consciousness of a poet who, like Kennaston or Mr. Cabell, broods continually over the problem how best to perform his function: "to write perfectly of beautiful happenings."
And such as I am, you love me, and it is I that you are going to marry, and not that Woods person." "He's worth ten of you!" she cried, scornfully. "Twenty of me, perhaps," Mr. Kennaston assented, "but that isn't the question. You don't love him, Kathleen. You are about to marry him for his money. You are about to do what I thought to do yesterday. But you won't, Kathleen.
"Of course, Miss Hugonin is glad to assist him in publishing his books it's an honour to her that he permits it. They have to be published privately, you know, as the general public isn't capable of appreciating such dainty little masterpieces. Oh, don't make any mistake, Billy Mr. Kennaston is a very wonderful and very admirable man."
With which characteristic speech, Miss Hugonin leaned back and sat up very rigidly and smiled at him like a cherub. Kennaston groaned. "It shall be as you will," he assured her, with a little quaver in his speech that was decidedly effective. "And in any event, I am not sorry that I have loved you, beautiful child. You have always been a power for good in my life.
Margaret was filled with a vague alarm. But she was brave, was Margaret. "No," said she, very decidedly, "I shan't give you another cent. So you climb right over that wall and go straight back where you belong." The methods of Mr. Flinks, I regret to say, were somewhat more crude than those of Mesdames Haggage and Saumarez and Messieurs Kennaston and Jukesbury. "Cheese it!" said Mr.
Kennaston were seated not twenty feet from the summer-house, on the bench which Miss Hugonin had just left. And when that unprincipled young woman finally rose to her feet, it must be confessed that it was with a toss of the head and with the reflection that while to listen wasn't honourable, it would at least be very amusing.
On this particular forenoon, however, neither Miss Hugonin nor Felix Kennaston had eyes for its comeliness; silently they braved the griffins, and in silence they skirted the fish-pond silver-crinkling in the May morning and passed through cloistral ilex-shadowed walks, and amphitheatres of green velvet, and terraces ample and mellow in the sunlight, silently.
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