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Updated: June 25, 2025
They stayed there a week: then a fit of restlessness drove Justine back to town. She found an excuse in the constant rain it was really useless, as she wrote Mr. Langhope, to keep the child imprisoned in an over-heated hotel while they could get no benefit from the outdoor life. In reality, she found the long lonely hours unendurable.
Langhope to Egypt and the Riviera, while Mrs. Ansell, as usual, took up her annual tour of a social circuit whose extreme points were marked by Boston and Baltimore and then he made his final appeal to his wife. A year earlier Amherst, deeply moved by the letter, would have given it to his wife in the hope of its producing the same effect on her.
She handed the letter back to him. "I think this is to tell you so." "This?" He groped for his glasses, dubiously scanning the letter again. "Yes. And what's more, if you refuse to go she'll have every right to break her side of the agreement." Mr. Langhope sank into a chair, steadying himself painfully with his stick. "Upon my soul, I sometimes think you're on her side!" he ejaculated.
When the feat was accomplished, and it became evident that Mr. Langhope could yield himself securely to the joys of confidential discourse, he paused on the brink of disclosure to say: "It's as well I saved that Ming from the ruins." "What ruins?" she exclaimed, her startled look giving him the full benefit of the effect he was seeking to produce.
"At seven? But, my dear friend, why on earth didn't you tell us?" "I didn't know till a few minutes ago. Bessy called me in as I was coming down." "Ah " Mr. Langhope murmured, meeting her eyes for a fraction of a second.
She summed up with a light nod, which included both Amherst and his mother, and turning to descend the verandah steps, waved a signal to Mr. Langhope, who was limping disconsolately toward the house. "What has she been saying to you, mother?" Amherst asked, returning to his seat beside his mother. Mrs. Amherst replied by a shake of her head and a raised forefinger of reproval.
Langhope's answer was a vague murmur of assent, and Amherst turned the talk to other matters. Mr. Langhope returned to town with distinct views on the situation at Hanaford. "Poor devil I'm sorry for him: he can hardly speak of her," he broke out at once to Mrs. Ansell, in the course of their first confidential hour together. "Because he cares too much he's too unhappy?" "Because he loathes her!"
Langhope knows that my marriage was...unhappy; through my fault, he no doubt thinks. And if he chooses to infer that...that you and I may have cared for each other...before...and that it was because there was a chance of recovery that you " "Oh " "We must face it," he repeated inflexibly.
Langhope is cut off from his usual amusements, I'm afraid that would only make him more lonely." "Yes, I suppose so." She put aside her untasted cup, resting her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her clasped hands, in the attitude habitual to her in moments of inward debate. Amherst rose and seated himself on the sofa beside her. "Dear!
Ansell seated herself in silence behind the tea-tray, of which she was now recognized as the officiating priestess. As she drew off her long gloves, and mechanically straightened the row of delicate old cups, Mr. Langhope added with an effort: "I've spoken to him told him what you said." She looked up quickly. "About the child's wish," he continued. "About her having written to his wife.
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