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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Well, if this is what chivalry has come to, thank God I'm not a squire!" Mrs. Pendyce's eyes flickered. "Ah!" she said, "I've thought like that so often." Gregory broke the silence. "I can't help the customs of the country. My duty's plain. There's nobody else to look after her." Mrs. Pendyce sighed, and, rising from her chair, said: "Very well, dear Grig; do let us go and have some tea."
Still Gregory did not speak. Mrs. Pendyce's face lost its anxious look, and gained a sort of gentle admiration. "Dear Grig," she said, "where do you go about your hair? It is so nice and long and wavy!" Gregory turned with a blush. "I've been wanting to get it cut for ages. Do you really mean, Margery, that your husband can't realise the position she's placed in?" Mrs.
And in this arrangement there was something harmonious and fitting, as though Providence itself had guided them all and assigned to each its place. And Providence had only made one error that of placing Captain Bellew's dogcart precisely opposite the booking-office, instead of Lord Quarryman's wagonette, with Mr. Pendyce's brougham next. Mr.
Pendyce's head, seen from behind at his library bureau, where it was his practice to spend most mornings from half-past nine to eleven or even twelve, was observed to be of a shape to throw no small light upon his class and character. Its contour was almost national.
Pendyce's mind, and the respite that he had enjoyed from care was over. But the spaniel John, who scented home, began singing feebly for the brougham to stop, and beating a careless tail against his master's boot. It was very stiffly, with frowning brows and a shaking under-lip, that the Squire descended from the brougham, and began sorely to mount the staircase to his wife's room.
Such was the process of Mr. Pendyce's mind. Indeed, like the spaniel John, a dog of conservative instincts, at the approach of any strange thing he placed himself in the way, barking and showing his teeth; and sometimes truly he suffered at the thought that one day Horace Pendyce would no longer be there to bark. But not often, for he had not much imagination.
They said, too, that it looked as if she were encouraging the attentions of George, Mr. Pendyce's eldest son. Lady Maiden had remarked to Mrs. Winlow in the drawing-room before dinner: "What is it about that Mrs. Bellew? I never liked her. A woman situated as she is ought to be more careful. I don't understand her being asked here at all, with her husband still at the Firs, only just over the way.
She drew George down on the sofa by her side, and the thought flashed through her: 'How many times has he not sat here with that woman in his arms! "You didn't come for me last night, dear! I got the tickets, such good ones!" George smiled. "No," he said; "I had something else to see to!" At sight of that smile Margery Pendyce's heart beat till she felt sick, but she, too, smiled.
An old straw hat was on his head, his little eyes were turned towards the ground; and his cob, which he had tied to what his father had left standing of the fence, had his eyes, too, turned towards the ground, for he was eating grass. Mr. Pendyce's fight with his burning stable had stuck in the farmer's "gizzard" ever since.
Lady Maiden winced, but, as though it were forced through her mouth by some explosion in her soul, she said: "You have only to look and see how dangerous she is!" The colour in Mrs. Pendyce's cheeks deepened to a blush like a girl's. "Every man," she said, "is in love with Helen Bellew. She's so tremendously alive.
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