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Updated: June 6, 2025
Maryllia was well accustomed to it, and understood what she called 'Gigue's vernacular' but the ladies and gentlemen of her house- party were not so well instructed, and Mrs. Bludlip Courtenay, whose knowledge of the French language was really quite extraordinary, immediately essayed the famous singing-master in his own tongue.
"Nothing!" and Maryllia looked thoughtfully out of the window at the flaming after-glow of the sunset, bathing all the landscape in a flood of coppery crimson "I shall just go on as usual. When I go down to dinner presently, I shall not speak of to-day's incident at all. Eva Beaulyon and Margaret Courtenay will expect me to speak of it and they will be disappointed.
The young rustics hustled one another forward, moved by strong excitement, all eager to see the feminine 'Humpire' who had descended upon them as suddenly as a vision falling from the skies, and all wondering what would happen next. "You have had my orders?" repeated Maryllia; then, as no answer was vouchsafed to her, she looked round and perceived Bainton. To him she at once addressed herself.
"I am sorry," he resumed "that I spoke as I did just now at your table because you are angry with me. But I cannot say that I am sorry for any other reason " At this Maryllia found her voice suddenly. "You have insulted my guests " "Ah, no!" said John, almost with a smile "Women who are habitual smokers are not easily insulted! They are past that, believe me!
With an impatient exclamation Roxmouth suddenly changed the subject; but Longford was satisfied that he had sown a seed, which might, time and circumstances permitting, sprout and grow into a tangible weed or flower. Maryllia meantime had made good her escape from the scene of Sir Morton Pippitt's 'afternoon-tea' festivity.
"I can't quite promise that, Cicely, but I'll do my best!" And taking her hand he patted it gently, as she furtively dashed one or two tear-drops from her lashes "Come, come, you mustn't cry! Run away and sing like the little nightingale you are don't fret " "But you'll go to Maryllia, won't you?" she urged, anxiously. "Yes. I'll go!"
All that his own eyes consciously beheld was Maryllia Maryllia, the dainty, pretty, delicate feminine creature who seemed created out of the finest mortal and spiritual essences, smoking! That cigarette stuck in her pretty mouth, vulgarised her appearance at once, coarsened her made her look as if she were indeed the rapid 'Maryllia Van' his friend Bishop Brent had written of.
And yet it was very strange! she herself was not stricken with any particular horror or despair at her destiny. When, after the doctor had left, Cicely came in, trembling and afraid, Maryllia smiled at her with quite a sweet placidity. "I know all about myself now," she said, quietly "I'm sorry in a way, because I shall be so useless. But I have escaped Roxmouth for good this time!"
It ran as follows: "MY DEAR MISS MARYLLIA, I feel sure you do not realise the great pain you are inflicting on your aunt, as well as on myself, by declining to answer our letters except by telegram. Pray remember that we are quite in the dark as to the state of your health, your surroundings and your general well-being.
Maryllia had met these two old ladies frequently at various Continental resorts, when she had travelled about with her aunt, and she had found something amusing and interesting in them both, especially in Miss Fosby, who was really a good creature, and when in consultation with Cicely as to who, among the various people she knew, should be asked down to the Manor and who should not, she had selected them as a set-off to the younger, more flippant and casual of her list, and also because they were likely to be convenient personages to play chaperones if necessary.
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