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Updated: June 5, 2025
You go to your excellent aunt and announce that you are engaged to be married to Jill Mariner. There is a momentary pause. 'Not the Jill Mariner? falters Mrs Peagrim. 'Yes, the famous Miss Mariner! you reply. Well, I ask you, my boy, can you see her making an objection? Such a thing would be absurd. No, I can see no flaw in the project whatsoever."
He contented himself for the moment with bending an intense gaze upon her and asking if she was tired. "A little," panted Mrs Peagrim, who, though she danced often and vigorously, was never in the best of condition, owing to her habit of neutralizing the beneficient effects of exercise by surreptitious candy-eating. "I'm a little out of breath."
Mrs Peagrim, in her role of ministering angel, was engrossed with her errand of mercy. She was holding the medicine-glass to Mr Pilkington's lips, and the seed fell on stony ground. "Drink this, dear," urged Mrs Peagrim. "Nervino," said Uncle Chris. "There!" said Mrs Peagrim. "That will make you feel much better. How well you always look, Major Selby!"
"Very well, if you do not like him," she said. "But I thought he was quite an intimate of yours. It was you who asked me to invite him to Newport last summer." "Much," said Mr Pilkington coldly, "has happened since last summer." "Oh, very well," said Mrs Peagrim again. "Then we will not include Mr Mason.
"What did that girl want?" she demanded. Uncle Chris seated himself with composure. The weakness had passed, and he was himself again. "Oh, nothing, nothing. Some trivial difficulty, which I was able to dispose of in a few words." Mrs Peagrim would have liked to continue her researches, but a feeling that it was wiser not to stray too long from the main point restrained her. She bent towards him.
Didn't do a thing to the good old beauty sleep! Well, what I mean to say is, I'd be awfully obliged if you'd let me bring him along." "Why, of course," said Mrs Peagrim. "Any friend of yours, Mr Rooke . . ." "Thanks awfully. Special reason why I'd like him to come, and all that. He's a fellow named Underhill. Sir Derek Underhill. Been a pal of mine for years and years." Uncle Chris started.
It may be possible for me to marry a rich woman." Freddie stopped, appalled. "Good God! You don't mean . . . you aren't thinking of marrying Mrs Peagrim!" "I wouldn't have mentioned names, but, as you have guessed . . . Yes, if the worst comes to the worst, I shall make the supreme sacrifice. Tonight will decide. Goodbye, my boy. I want to look in at my club for a few minutes.
Tell Underhill that he has my best wishes." "I'll bet he has!" gasped Freddie. It is safest for the historian, if he values accuracy, to wait till a thing has happened before writing about it. Otherwise he may commit himself to statements which are not borne out by the actual facts. Mrs Peagrim, recording in advance the success of her party at the Gotham Theatre, had done this.
Every time he had met Mrs Peagrim that evening he had quailed inwardly at what lay before him, should some hitch occur to prevent the re-union of Derek and Jill: and, now that the other was actually here, handsomer than ever and more than ever the sort of man no girl could resist, he declined to admit the possibility of a hitch. His spirits soared. "You haven't seen Jill yet, of course?" "No."
But his proper name's Peagrim." The anxiety to see the "rum fellow" Dusty Bob made the boys hurry on, but there were again so many attractions by the wayside that stoppages were very frequent. The sandy roads had soaked up all the rain, but on every leaf and spray heavy dew-drops were hanging and glittering in the morning sun; while the birds were singing as though to make up for lost time.
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