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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Wretched insolence!" murmured Marlboro', still incensed. And in a few minutes the coach had disappeared round the winding way. "So much for Marlboro's theories!" burst forth St. George, in a moment. "A man's works follow him. Sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind is too much of a good thing.
George held open, he produced from somewhere and placed in her hand a braided trencher of broad vine and fig-leaves that bore a mass of strange and beautiful growth. Scarcely had she plunged taper fingers between the scented layers, when a box with Mr. Marlboro's compliments was delivered, which, on being laughingly opened, proved to hold rare wreaths of pinky buds and bells.
The carriage-top had been thrown open, and at the moment of these words Miss Changarnier saw Mr. St. George, from his seat on the box beside the coachman, hastily start and turn, but whether on account of Mrs. Arles, or at something in the road, she could not discern; for Marlboro's horse having very singularly fallen lame in the stables that night, she had heard Mr. St.
George muttering something about foul play, as he offered the other a seat, and she felt that he entertained apprehensions. Had she seen Marlboro's arm raised quiveringly, while the lash of the riding-whip fell across the groom's face in a welt, as he dismissed him, she might have felt also a womanly fear that the apprehensions were not groundless.
Up the stream, this way and that, tacking and veering, past the boats that hung on their oars and cheered them this time lustily themselves, touching shore, and the hunters had their boat again. Then all trooping back across the turf, her hand in his, to the place where Marlboro's horse waited with pawing hoofs. What a mad evening it had been!
But the wedding passed as weddings do, to-day cake, to-morrow crumbs, and at length the carriages were ordered for The Rim. The evening had not been without its triumphs to Éloise, however many masks she wore over her inner depression. St. George had forgotten her till a late hour, and, conspicuous as Marlboro's devoir had been, her own acceptance of it had been scarcely less so.
"I've no doubt of it," whispered Emma Houghton, with meaning. "Sure you're right, Dean?" asked Mr. Humphreys. "I should not like to have at home the dangerous cattle Marlboro' can put finger on." "Perhaps they would be less dangerous, if the fingers were less weighty." "Here's Marlboro's theory, and in the long run it's about the true one, you must confess. Shut that door, Kate, my dear.
By God! if I had such people as Marlboro's, I would sell them, and that with a tan-toasting! or I'd send them all to the North, that's so fond of them! Come, hasten!" and, half dragging her on his arm, he strode forward, wordless and fierce, till they reached the house.
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