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Updated: June 20, 2025
His face had grown rather serious. He looked as if he were prepared to receive the confidences of a patient. "Who did she go off with?" he asked. Dick took a cigarette from the silver box, and lit it. "Mr. Ronald Mackenzie," he said, as he threw the match into the fireplace. "Ronald Mackenzie! Where did she pick him up?" "He picked her up. He was staying at Mountfield."
So Dick drove along the five miles of dark road at an easy pace, for he could catch no train now until seven o'clock in the morning and there was no use in hurrying, and thought and thought, as he drove. If he failed in stopping this astonishing and iniquitous proceeding it would not be for want of thinking. Mountfield was an early house.
Graham should leave Mountfield to go to live at the Grange, but without any approach to sentiment, and no expressions of regret on either side. When they had done, and there had followed another of those pauses with which their conversations were punctuated, Mrs. Graham said, "You are making very certain of Cicely, Jim." "I'm going to claim her," said Jim quietly.
"Oh, dear Mrs. Clinton, don't think I'm taking it on myself to blame you. You know I wouldn't do that. But I must say what I think. Life is desperately dull for a girl at houses like Kencote or Mountfield." "Kencote and Mountfield?" "Well, don't be angry with me if I say it is much more dull at Kencote than at Mountfield. Cicely isn't even allowed to hunt.
You would be mistress of Mountfield. I'm not making half such a brilliant alliance." "Brilliant! I'm quite sure you would rather be going to marry somebody who had his way to make, like Walter, than trickle off from one big, dull country house to another. Wouldn't you, now?" "Well, yes, I would. But it wouldn't make any difference to me, really, if I had Walter.
Two men were leaning over the side of the upper deck, watching the phosphorescent gleam of the water as it slid past beneath them, and talking as intimate friends. They were Ronald Mackenzie, the explorer, returning home after his adventurous two years' expedition into the wilds of Tibet, and Jim Graham, whose home was at Mountfield, three miles away from Kencote, where the Clintons lived.
The food and the raiment were nothing to her, either at Kencote or Mountfield. Cicely rose from her seat and strolled across the lawn, through an iron gate and a flower-garden, and on to another lawn verging on the shrubberies. Joan and Nancy were employed here in putting tennis balls into a hole with the handles of walking sticks.
I thought of going over to see her now." "Go by all means, my boy," said the Squire heartily. "You'll find her about somewhere, only don't make her late for lunch. You'll stay, of course. You haven't seen Hayles about anywhere, have you? He's not in the office." Jim had not, and the Squire trotted off to find his agent, with a last word of dissuasion on letting Mountfield.
Clinton? I think the only thing that will give her back to herself now is for her to marry Jim as quickly as possible." "But Kencote and Mountfield both are desperately dull for a girl!" Muriel laughed, "She wouldn't find Mountfield so if she really loved Jim. I don't know whether she does or not. She won't hear of him now." Mrs. Clinton was silent for a time.
But there's a good deal to do outside that. I kept my eyes open when I was travelling, and I do know a bit about the Colonies, and about land too. There are societies I can make myself useful in, even if I don't get into Parliament. Anyway I'm going to try." "I am so glad, Jim," said Cicely. "But won't you miss Mountfield awfully? And where are you going to live?" "In London for a year or two.
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