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Updated: June 16, 2025
What's the good of your coming up like this? How are you to get on here all alone? I can fight my own battles. You'd much better go back." Mrs. Pendyce broke in: "Oh, George; I can't see you cast off from us! I must be with you!" George felt her trembling all over. He got up and walked to the window. Mrs. Pendyce's voice followed: "I won't try to separate you, George; I promise, dear.
"I shall believe nothing till I've heard from him. He'll tell us the truth, I suppose." There was a quaver in his voice. Mrs. Pendyce answered quickly: "Oh, Horace, be careful what you say! I'm sure he is suffering!" Her gentle soul, disposed to pleasure, was suffering, too, and the tears stole up in her eyes. Mr. Pendyce's sight was too long to see them.
Pendyce remembered with a glow at her heart how she had broken in: "Ellen Maiden is too bourgeoise for anything!" Nor had Mr. Pendyce's look of displeasure effaced the comfort of that word. Poor Horace! The children took after him, except George, who took after her brother Hubert. The dear boy had gone back to his club on Friday the day after Helen and the others went.
The dinner-gong began to sound, and as though attracted by its long monotonous beating, a swallow flew in at one of the narrow windows and fluttered round the room. Mrs. Pendyce's eyes followed its flight. The Squire stepped forward suddenly and took her hand. "Don't run away from me again, Margery!" he said; and stooping down, he kissed it. At this action, so unlike her husband, Mrs.
Pendyce's fingers began twisting, again she stilled them. "We were quite a large party last week, and now there's only Charles. Even George has gone back; he'll be so sorry to have missed you!" Gregory neither turned nor answered, and a wistful look came into Mrs. Pendyce's face. "It was so nice for the dear boy to win that race! I'm afraid he bets rather! It's such a comfort Horace doesn't know."
Pendyce's shoulder, and she did not put it back, but ran her fingers through and through each other, while the sunlight, traversing the narrow windows, caressed her from her hair down to her knees.
Had it meant death, Mr. Pendyce could not have passed one whose fathers had toiled for his fathers, eaten his fathers' bread, died with his fathers, without a word and a movement of his hand. "Evenin', Squire; nice evenin'. Faine weather fur th' hay!" The voice was warped and wavery. 'This is my Squire, it seemed to say, 'whatever ther' be agin him! Mr. Pendyce's hand went up to his hat.
He went back to his seat, but since he had identified the wrong spot he was obliged in a minute to return again to the plan. The spaniel John, cherishing the hope that he had been justly treated, approached in a half circle, fluttering his tail; he had scarcely reached Mr. Pendyce's foot when the door was opened, and the first footman brought in a letter on a silver salver. Mr.
"That's a most haunting little song you sang, dear," she said. Mrs. Bellew answered: "The words are so true, aren't they?" George felt her eyes on him, and tried to look at her, but those half-smiling, half-threatening eyes seemed to twist and turn him about as his hands had twisted and turned about his mother's embroidery. Again across Mrs. Pendyce's face flitted that half-startled look.
On the lips of her husband, those lips which had never spoken in metaphors, never swerved from the direct and commonplace, nor deserted the shibboleth of his order, such words had an evil and malignant sound. He went on: "I've brought him up as I was brought up myself. I never thought to have had a scamp for my son!" Mrs. Pendyce's heart stopped fluttering. "How dare you, Horace!" she cried.
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