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Updated: June 2, 2025
She did not allow herself to wonder how he felt, when he sat there hungry, looking on, while the little creature, greedy for caresses, was given her fill of love. And when he was tortured by headache, she brought him an effervescing drink, and considered that she had done her duty. A worse headache than usual had smitten him one late Sunday afternoon in August. Peggy tugged at Majendie's coat.
She had always had great practical ability; she had proved herself a good organiser, expert in the business of societies and committees. In her preoccupation she had not noticed that her husband had left the house, and that he did not return to it. In the morning, as she left her room, the old nurse came to her with a grave face, and took her into Majendie's room.
When Peggy was tired of fetching and carrying, she watched her mother turning over the clothes and sorting them into heaps. Anne's methods were rapid and efficient. "Oh, mummy!" cried Peggy, "don't! You touch daddy's things as if you didn't like them." "Peggy, darling, what do you mean?" "You're so quick." She laid her face against one of Majendie's coats and stroked it.
Anne's interpretation of Majendie's silence was not so favourable. After being exposed to the pain and insult of Lady Cayley's presence she had expected an immediate apology, and she inferred from its omission an unpardonable complicity.
Majendie's chin rose, as if she were lifting her face above the reach of the hand that had tried to strike it. Her voice throbbed on one deep monotonous note. "I do not believe a word of what you say. And I cannot think what your motive is in saying it." "Don't worry about my motive. It ought to be pretty clear.
Her hand stiffened against his in her effort to withdraw it; and when he had let it go, she turned from him and left him without a word. He threw himself face downwards on the cushions, wounded and ashamed. It was Friday evening, the Friday that followed that Sunday when Majendie's hope had risen at the touch of his wife's hand, and died again under her repulse.
Impossible to take any impression from her, to say where her gaiety ended and her vulgarity began. "Isn't it funny?" the little lady went on, unconscious of Mrs. Majendie's attitude. "My husband's your husband's oldest friend. So I think you and I ought to be friends too." Anne's face intimated that she hardly considered the chain of reasoning unbreakable; but Mrs.
"She's got blue, blue eyes, Sarah; and the dearest little goldy ducks' tails curling over the nape of her neck." Majendie's sad face brightened under praise of Peggy. "Sweet," murmured Sarah. "I love them when they're like that." She saw how she could flatter him. If he loved to talk about the baby, she could talk about babies till all was blue. They talked for more than half an hour.
Not that she relied upon herself alone. Her plan for Majendie's salvation was liberal and large, it admitted of other methods, other influences. There was no narrowness, any more than there was jealousy, in Anne. "Walter," said she, "I want you to know Mrs. Eliott." "But I do know her, don't I?" He called up a vision of the lady whose house had been Anne's home in Scale. He was grateful to Mrs.
In the spring of the year they gathered to their climax. One afternoon Gorst appeared in Majendie's office, sat down with a stricken air, and appealed to his friend to help him out. "I thought you were out," said Majendie. "So I am. It's because I'm so well out that I'm in for it. Evans's have turned her off. She's down on her luck and well you see, now she wants me to marry her." "I see. Well "
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