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Updated: June 22, 2025
In fact, certain stories have reached Lady Jane's ears concerning your cousin, which have greatly prejudiced her against him, and we have reason to think most unfairly; for we have succeeded in tracing some of the offences in question, not to Guy, but to a Mr. Morewood, who it seems has personated your cousin upon more than one occasion, and not a little to his disadvantage.
With which she departed to join Sir Roderick, who had been spending the interval in extracting from Morewood an account of Stafford's behavior. "Hard hit, was he?" he concluded. "He looked it." "Wonder what he'll do! I'll give you five to four he asks her." "Done!" said Morewood; "in fives." Father Stafford Keeps Vigil. Dinner that evening at the Manor was not a very brilliant affair.
Bartlett had reluctantly gone to open the bazaar, and Miss Chambers went with them, but otherwise the party was unchanged; for Morewood, who had come originally only for two days, had begged leave to stay, received it on condition of showing due respect to everybody's prejudices, telegraphed for his materials, and was fitfully busy making sketches, not of Lady Claudia, to her undisguised annoyance, but of Stafford, with whose face he had been wonderfully struck.
The party at Millstead Manor was finally broken up by the departure of the Territons and of Morewood about a week after Stafford left.
Morewood was an artist of great ability, originality, and skill; and if he had not attained the honors of the Academy, it was perhaps more of his own fault than that of the exalted body in question, as he always treated it with an ostentatious contumely. After all, the Academy must be allowed its feelings.
Morewood yawned obtrusively. "What a shame!" May murmured at random. "It's just the same with a husband," Mrs. Baxter observed. "Only it's rather more difficult to scratch out his name and put in John Wentworth's," Morewood suggested. May laughed. "But anyhow the Dean's a good husband, isn't he, Mrs. Baxter?" "Oh, yes, my dear. The same men very seldom fly out over notions and over women."
Morewood saw her smile and then frown in apparent vexation. Then she looked down at him suddenly and said, "But then if you'd heard him last night!" "There it is again!" said Morewood. "That's what annoys me so. In common with most of mankind, I like to be able to label a man and put him in his compartment." "That's just what you can't do with Mr. Quisanté."
"Now is the Church to swallow the State, or the other way round, or are they to swallow one another, or what?" "Such a fine day too!" observed Mrs. Baxter. Morewood burst into a laugh. "To waste it on whimsy-whamsies!" cried May, joining in his mirth.
Dudley Morewood, for such is his latest patronymic, must have enjoyed frequent opportunities of hearing much of your family and relations, a species of information he never neglected, though at the moment it might appear not so immediately applicable to his purposes.
Here was the state of things which extorted from Morewood the blunt wish that Quisanté might die. Such a desire was hardly cruel to the man himself, since he must now lose all that he had loved best in the market of the world; but it was not the man himself who had been most in Morewood's thoughts.
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