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Updated: May 19, 2025
Majendie had had a family that family would have had to call on Anne. But Mr. Majendie hadn't a family, he had only Edith, which was worse than having nobody at all. And then, besides, there was his history. Mrs. Eliott looked distressed. Mr. Majendie's history could not be explained away as too ancient to be interesting. In Scale a seven-year-old event is still startlingly, unforgetably modern.
He uttered the phrase with measured emphasis, and closed his teeth upon the last words with a snap. It was impossible to convey a stronger effect of moral reprobation. "But I see your difficulty," he continued. "I understand that he is a rather intimate friend of Miss Majendie." Anne noticed that he deliberately avoided all mention of her husband. "She has known him for a very long time."
He entertained her with an account of his labours. "How funny you must both have looked," said Edith, "and, oh, how funny the poor drawing-room must feel." "The fact is," said Majendie gravely, "I don't think she's very well. I shall get her to see Gardner." "I would, if I were you." He wrote to Dr. Gardner that night and told Anne what he had done.
And the woman who watched her wondered in what circumstances Mrs. Majendie would display emotion, if she did not display it now. "What right have you to say these things to me?" "I've a right to say a good deal more. Your husband was very fond of me. He would have married me if his friends hadn't come and bullied me to give him up for the good of his morals.
"That he means a great many things he doesn't say? Is that it?" Majendie, becoming restive under the flicker of Edith's cheerful tongue, withdrew the arm she cherished. Edith felt the nervousness of the movement; her glance turned from her brother's face to Anne's, rested there for a tense moment, and then veiled itself.
Perhaps one reason why he loved gaming was less from the joy of winning than the philosophical complacency with which he feasted on the emotions of those who lost; always serene, and, except in debauch, always passionless, Majendie, tracing the experiments of science in the agonies of some tortured dog, could not be more rapt in the science, and more indifferent to the dog, than Lord Lilburne, ruining a victim, in the analysis of human passions, stoical in the writhings of the wretch whom he tranquilly dissected.
He touched his cap to Majendie as they appeared on the bank, but he did not look at Maggie when her gentle voice called good-morning. Steve's face was close-mouthed and hard set. She put her hands on Majendie's shoulders and kissed him. Her cheek against his face was pure and cold, wet with the rain. Steve did not look at them. He never looked at them when they were together.
Hannay plucked her husband by the sleeve, and he lowered an attentive ear. Mrs. Ransome covered the confidence with a high-pitched babble. "You find Scale a very sociable place, don't you, Mrs. Majendie?" said Mrs. Ransome. "Go," said Mrs. Hannay, "and take her off into the conservatory, or somewhere." "More sociable in the winter-time, of course."
Her very body was changing into the beauty of her motherhood. The sweetness of her face, arrested in its hour of blossom, had unfolded and flowered again. Her mouth had lost its sad droop, and for Peggy there came many times laughter, and many times that lifting of the upper lip, the gleam of the white teeth, and the play of the little amber mole that Majendie loved and Anne was ashamed of.
Did not Majendie say to his students, “Gentlemen, disease is a subject which physicians know nothing about”? So the doctor both believed in the existence of a personal devil, and believed in his own ability to get the upper hand of that individual in a tournament of the wits. Ah, he learned better by terrible experience!
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