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Updated: June 26, 2025
Luckily, the loss to literature is not irreparable. Lord Marshmoreton himself is engaged upon a history of the family, which will doubtless be on every bookshelf as soon as his lordship gets it finished.
Lord Belpher proceeded to the library, while Keggs melted away through the green baize door at the end of the hall which divided the servants' quarters from the rest of the house. Reggie had hardly driven a dozen yards when he perceived his stepmother and Lord Marshmoreton coming towards him from the direction of the rose-garden. He drew up to greet them. "Hullo, mater. What ho, uncle!
Bevan at the cottage down by Platt's farm, and you're to deliver it without playing any of your monkey-tricks, and you're to wait for an answer, and you're to bring that answer back to me, too, and to Lord Marshmoreton. And I may tell you, to save you the trouble of opening it with steam from the kitchen kettle, that I 'ave already done so. It's an invitation to dine with us tonight.
"I should have thought that you would be interested in a matter affecting the vital welfare of your only daughter." "I am. I am," said Lord Marshmoreton hastily. "The maid replied: 'They're at the wash. Of course I am. Go on, Percy. Good God, boy, don't take all day telling us your story." "At that moment the fool of a policeman came up and wanted to know what the matter was. I lost my head.
Back again at the old homestead, what?" Beneath Lady Caroline's aristocratic front agitation seemed to lurk. "Reggie, where is Percy?" "Old Boots? I think he's gone to the library. I just decanted him out of the car." Lady Caroline turned to her brother. "Let us go to the library, John." "All right. All right. All right," said Lord Marshmoreton irritably.
Inasmuch as the scene of this story is that historic pile, Belpher Castle, in the county of Hampshire, it would be an agreeable task to open it with a leisurely description of the place, followed by some notes on the history of the Earls of Marshmoreton, who have owned it since the fifteenth century. Unfortunately, in these days of rush and hurry, a novelist works at a disadvantage.
I demanded that he tell me her whereabouts. . ." "That reminds me," said Lord Marshmoreton cheerfully, "of a story I read in one of the papers. I daresay it's old. Stop me if you've heard it. A woman says to the maid: 'Do you know anything of my husband's whereabouts? And the maid replies " "Do be quiet," snapped Lady Caroline.
You promised to go over these notes with me, the ones about the Essex branch " The hunted peer looked as if he were about to dive through the window. "Some other time, some other time. I I have important matters " "Oh, if you're busy " "Of course, Lord Marshmoreton will be delighted to work on your notes, Miss Faraday," said Lady Caroline crisply. "Take this chair. We are just going."
"Damn the family!" said Lord Marshmoreton, stoutly. "There's one thing," said Billie complacently, eyeing her reflection in the mirror of her vanity-case, "I may glitter in the fighting-top, but it is genuine. When I was a kid, I was a regular little tow-head." "I never supposed for a moment that it was anything but genuine."
"Why Lord Peebles?" "Well, what I mean to say is," said Miss Plummer, with a silvery echo of Reggie Byng, "he made his money in whisky." "That's better than spending it that way," argued George. Miss Plummer looked puzzled. "I see what you mean," she said a little vaguely. "Lord Marshmoreton is so different." "Haughty nobleman stuff, eh?" "Yes."
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