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Updated: June 16, 2025
Soon after seven the same evening a dogcart driven by a young groom and drawn by a raking chestnut mare with a blaze face, swung into the railway-station at Worsted Skeynes, and drew up before the booking-office. Mr. Pendyce's brougham, behind a brown horse, coming a little later, was obliged to range itself behind.
Trust-trust! Paid for! Isn't he rather a darling?" On Mr. Pendyce's foot, or by the side of his chair, whence he could see what was being eaten, sat the spaniel John, and now and then Mr. Pendyce, taking a small portion of something between his finger and thumb, would say: "John! Make a good breakfast, Sir James; I always say a half-breakfasted man is no good!" And Mrs.
Suddenly General Pendyce's voice was heard saying very loud, "Stale? Nonsense, Bee, nonsense! Why, damme, so it is!" A hum of voices from the centre of the room covered up that outburst, and Gerald, stepping to the hearth, threw another cedar log upon the fire. The smoke came out in a puff. Mrs. Pendyce leaned back in her chair smiling, and wrinkling her fine, thin nose.
What she had been expecting all these days had come! Her pale lips answered: "What do you mean? I don't understand you, Horace." Mr. Pendyce's eyes searched here and therefor what, he did not know. "This has decided me," he said. "I'll have no half-measures.
He came to the Squire fluttering his tail, with a slipper in his mouth, and his eye said plainly: 'Oh, master, where have you been? Why have you been so long? I have been expecting you ever since half-past ten this morning! Mr. Pendyce's heart opened a moment and closed again. He said "John!" and began to dress for dinner. Mrs. Pendyce found him tying his white tie.
And though she was smiling, the tears were in her eyes, and this offended him. "Don't, mother!" Mrs. Pendyce's answer was a long look. George could not bear it, and turned away. "Well," he said gruffly, "when you can tell me what's brought you up " Mrs. Pendyce sat down on the sofa.
Pendyce's rooted belief to the contrary, an individualist. His head, indeed, was like nothing so much as the Admiralty Pier at Dover that strange long narrow thing, with a slight twist or bend at the end, which first disturbs the comfort of foreigners arriving on these shores, and strikes them with a sense of wonder and dismay.
And he went about pressing the blade of this thought into his soul. About four o'clock on the day of Mrs. Pendyce's visit to the studio a letter was brought him by a page-boy. "Thursday. "I have seen Helen Bellew, and have just come from George. We have all been living in a bad dream. She does not love him perhaps has never loved him. I do not know; I do not wish to judge. She has given him up.
The year was 1891, the month October, the day Monday. In the dark outside the railway-station at Worsted Skeynes Mr. Horace Pendyce's omnibus, his brougham, his luggage-cart, monopolised space. The face of Mr. Horace Pendyce's coachman monopolised the light of the solitary station lantern.
"And have you any other news, dear? It seems such an age since we've seen you. I think I've told you all our budget in my letters. You know there's going to be another event at the Rectory?" "Another? I passed Barter on the way up. I thought he looked a bit blue." A look of pain shot into Mrs. Pendyce's eyes. "Oh, I'm afraid that couldn't have been the reason, dear."
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