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Was ever a man in a worse position? The questioning grey eyes stared at him so coldly that he lost his head. He wanted to apologise, to explain, yet he knew that he could not explain. It was Marjorie who had brought him into this, but he must respect the girl's secret, on which so much depended for her. "Please answer me," Joan Meredyth said.
There can be little doubt, but that the writings of Guttun Owen, Cynfrig ab Gronow, and of Sir Meredyth ab Rhys, were extant in the Days of Llwyd and Powel, and known to many persons who lived in the principality, as Powel did. The next account I have met with of this Event is in Hakluyt.
"Oh, and and Hugh, she and you " She paused, she held her face down that he might not see it. "Joan Meredyth," he said slowly, "and I met in Town a few days ago. She told me then, that she is engaged to be married." "Oh!" Marjorie said, and her heart leaped with a new-born hope. "And I," Hugh went on, "am worried and anxious about her." "Hugh!" "I can't worry you, little girl.
And in the cottages, how they will stare at Miss Meredyth of Starden when she takes her walks abroad. They'll wink at one another, won't they. They'll remember! Trust 'em, they'll never forget!" She felt sickened, faint, and horrified, yet she gave no sign. "Money you said!" he shouted, "and money it shall be!
"So little Joan married him. Well, what about it?" "They parted, sir, almost at once, having quarrelled bitterly. Lady Linden does not say what about, and they have never been together since. A little while ago she received a letter from Miss Meredyth, as she still continues to call herself, asking her assistance in finding work for her to do.
"Dear Major Meredyth: "I should like to confirm by the following anecdote, which is going the round of the Brigade, what I recently told you about our friend Boyce.
"If you had meant that at first it would have been different; now it is only an insult!" Three days passed, and there came answers. She had been right, Mrs. Ransome was dead, and there was no one who could do anything for Miss Meredyth. General Bartholomew was at Harrogate, and her letter had been sent on to him there, wrote a polite secretary.
Altogether, he felt miserably unhappy, furious with himself and angry with Miss Joan Meredyth. The one and only person he did not blame was the one, only and entirely, to blame Marjorie! This Sunday morning Hugh in his study heard the chug-chug of a small and badly driven light car, and looked out of the window to see Marjorie stepping out of the vehicle.
If she felt the sting of her poverty so, then perhaps the thought of his eight thousand a year would act as balm to her wounded feelings. At this time Hugh Alston had a very poor opinion of Miss Meredyth. He did not deny her loveliness. He could not; no man in his senses and gifted with eyesight could.
And silence is worth a lot, my girl, when a woman's engaged to be married, and when there's things in her past she don't care about people knowing of. Yes, Miss Joan Meredyth, my lady clerk on three quid a week was one person, but Miss Meredyth of Starden Hall, engaged to be married to Mr. John Everard of Buddesby, is another, ain't she?" "Please say what you have to say," she said coldly.
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