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Miltoun looked at him for some seconds, before replying. "From what town-crier did you hear that?" But there was that in Courtier's face which checked his anger; its friendliness was transparent. "I am about her only friend," Courtier proceeded earnestly; "and this is my last chance to say nothing of my feeling towards you, which, believe me, is very cordial." "Go on, then," Miltoun muttered.
"The matter has been argued, Babs," Lord Valleys said shortly; "unless you have some better reason to advance than those of ordinary common sense, public spirit, and consideration for one's family, it will hardly be worth your while to reopen the discussion." Barbara looked up at Miltoun, whose face, all but the eyes, was like a mask.
It had arisen from what she had intended as a perfectly natural and not unkind remark, to the effect that all the trouble had come from Mrs. Noel not having made her position clear to Miltoun from the first. He had at once grown very red. "It's easy, Lady Valleys, for those who have never been in the position of a lonely woman, to blame her."
Miltoun would not have obeyed that invitation from anyone else, but there was something about Lord Dennis which people did not resist; his power lay in a dry ironic suavity which could not but persuade people that impoliteness was altogether too new and raw a thing to be indulged in. The two sat side by side on the roots of trees.
The driver's face appeared at the window, but Miltoun only motioned with his head, as if to say: Anywhere, away from here! The thought flashed through Barbara: "If only I can keep him in here with me!" She leaned out, and said quietly: "To Nettlefold, in Sussex never mind your petrol get more on the road. You can have what fare you like. Quick!"
Boston and London, 1903. "Cathedrals of Southern France." In collaboration with Francis Miltoun. Sold for publication in London and Boston, 1904. "A Dante Calendar." London, 1903. "A Rubaiyat Calendar." Boston, 1903. "The King's Classics." A Calendar. Sold in London for 1904. Furnival, Professor Skeat, and Israel Gollancz.
Still he did feel that Miltoun was altogether too much the 'pukka' aristocrat no better than a Socialist, with his confounded way of seeing things all cut and dried; his ideas of forcing reforms down people's throats and holding them there with the iron hand! With his way too of acting on his principles! Why! He even admitted that he acted on his principles!
He stopped on seeing his great-uncle, and instantly assumed the mask of his smile. Lord Dennis was not the man to see what was not intended for him, and he merely said: "Well, Eustace!" as he might have spoken, meeting his nephew in the hall of one of his London Clubs. Miltoun, no less polite, murmured: "Hope I haven't lost you anything."
Have you consulted Miltoun?" "No," said Lord Valleys shortly, "and don't mean to he's too unpractical." "He always seems to know what he wants very well." "I tell you," repeated Lord Valleys, "Miltoun's no good in a matter of this sort he and his ideas throw back to the Middle Ages." Lady Valleys went closer, and took him by the lapels of his collar. "Geoff-really, to please me; some other way!"
This was the legacy no doubt of the hard-bitten individuality, which had brought to the front so many of his ancestors; for in Miltoun was the blood not only of the Caradocs and Fitz-Harolds, but of most other prominent families in the kingdom, all of whom, in those ages before money made the man, must have had a forbear conspicuous by reason of qualities, not always fine, but always poignant.
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