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The noisier the others grew as dinner progressed, the closer she and this quiet-voiced boy seemed to draw together. "Poor old Ponty, too bad he couldn't come," cried Mr. Newlyn, pecking, sparrow-like, at a scrap of food on his plate. "Anything wrong, Lady Kingsmead?" "No, I don't think so. He telephoned just before dinner oh!"
She did not consider that breaking her word was not fair play, she had no thought of pity for Pontefract. She loved nobody, and therefore thought solely of herself. This boy was right. She would be happier with him than with poor, old, fat Ponty. So poor, old, fat Ponty went to the wall, and putting her hands into Joyselle's, she said slowly: "Very well I will. I will marry you.
And did not this fact he knowing poor old Ponty as only brother can know brother throw a rather lurid light upon the spiritual and intellectual limitations of the Bench? In respect of the British aristocracy, his social betters, he also kept an open mind. For had not Lord Bulparc's son and heir, little Oxley, acted as his fag, boot-black and bacon-frier, for the best part of a year at school?
According to the Duchess, Pam is a mine of wisdom. But I know what she did about that Peele man, and I haven't the courage to do that. Oh, why did I ever see Théo? Then I'd have married Ponty, and what's that?" Wheeling fiercely, she faced the door leading from her sitting-room into the passage. It opened noiselessly and Carron came in, dressed as she had last seen him.
"Been crying?" "Yes." "That bill?" "Yes, that bill, you horrid little boy. There's a long worm in your hair." Kingsmead removed the worm. "Mater been nasty?" "Beastly." "H'm. I say, Bick, I saw Ponty yesterday." Brigit, who had turned and was gazing across the lawn, looked at him without moving her head, a trick which is not at all English. "Did you, now?" "I did. He is dining here, he says.
Then there came a ring at the door, and a moment later Toinon, the red-elbowed maid-of-all-work, appeared, very much alarmed, carrying a card, which she gave to Brigit. "Oh, dear it is poor Ponty!" ejaculated the girl, involuntarily turning to Joyselle. "Poor " "Lord Pontefract, Théo. Oh, how tiresome of mother!" Joyselle frowned. "Do not call your mother tiresome," he said shortly.
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