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Updated: May 10, 2025
There were a good many Pemberthys scattered about the home and midland counties, but it was generally understood in the family that the head of the clan, as it were, lived at Maythorpe Farm, near Finchley, and here the Pemberthys would forgather on any great occasion, such as a marriage, a funeral, or a christening, the funeral taking precedence for numbers.
"Indeed! Then you " He pauses half-way for a reply, but it is long in coming. Only the humming of the bees disturbs the silence of the room. "Then you leave here?" he concludes at last. "Yes. It is only the male Pemberthys who rule," she says. "Your your children?" "My one little boy, my dear Algy, died before his father. It was a great disappointment to my husband that he should die.
The Maythorpe Farm belonged to the Pemberthys, and had descended from father to son from days lying too far back to reckon up just now; and a rare, exclusive, conservative, bad-tempered, long-headed race the Pemberthys had always borne the reputation of being, feathering their own nests well, and dying in them fat and prosperous.
We female Pemberthys," she says, with a sudden real bright little smile that settles down into sadness again very quickly, "do not count for a great deal in the family." "How long has Mr. Pemberthy been dead?" "Six months." "You are left poor?" he says, very quickly now. "I I don't think you have a right to ask me such a question, sir." "I have no right," he replies. "These are foreign manners.
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