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Updated: June 16, 2025
And behind her, Hester's stormy beauty! Rose gave a little gulp. Then she found herself pressing a cold hand, and was conscious of sudden relief. Miss Puttenham's shy composure was unchanged. She could not have looked so she could not surely have confronted such a gathering of neighbours and strangers, if No, no!
As the first activity of memory, stirred and goaded by an untoward event, lost its poignancy; as she tried in obedience to Meynell to put away her terrors, with regard to the past, her thoughts converged ever more intensely on the present on herself and Mary.... There was in the world, indeed, another personality rarely or never absent from Alice Puttenham's consciousness.
It had been taken for granted in the family, year after year, that if no one else was devoted to Hester, Aunt Alsie's devotion, at least, never failed. Hester's clothes were Miss Puttenham's special care; it was for Hester that she stitched and embroidered. Hester was to inherit her jewels and her money.
On the same afternoon which saw the last meeting of the Commission of Inquiry at Markborough, the windows of Miss Puttenham's cottage in Upcote Minor were open to the garden, and the sun stealing into the half darkened drawing-room touched all the many signs it contained of a woman's refinement and woman's tastes. The room was a little austere.
Hurriedly with yet more pauses to listen and to look the wrapping was undone; the case within fell open. It contained a miniature portrait of a man French work, by an excellent pupil of Meissonier. The detail of it was marvellous; so, in Alice Puttenham's view, was the likeness.
So that she received Mary's outburst in silence. For she said to herself that she could have no right to reveal Alice Puttenham's secret, even to Mary. That cruel tongues should at that moment be making free with it burnt like a constant smart in Catharine's mind. Was the poor thing herself aware of it? could it be kept from her? If not, Mary must know would know sooner or later.
"I got tired of that stupid party and I well, I just slipped away" the clear high voice had grown conscious "and I looked in here, because I left a book behind me Auntie, who is it?" She bent eagerly over the miniature, trying to see it in the dim light. Miss Puttenham's face had faded to a gray-white. "Give it to me, Hester!" She held out her hand imperiously.
Conscious, too, of a dear human presence, closely interwoven now with his sense of things ineffable. Latterly, as we have seen, he had not been without some scanty opportunities of meeting Mary Elsmere. In Miss Puttenham's drawing-room, whither the common anxiety about Hester had drawn him on many occasions, he had chanced once or twice on Miss Puttenham's new friend. In the village, Mrs.
To Budé all history was a moral example and Puttenham's inclusion of didactic fiction is in line with much renaissance thought, which regarded the two as almost interchangeable. Puttenham, like Webbe, was more in accord with Horace in admitting both the pleasant and profitable effects of poetry than he was with Minturno, Scaliger, and Sidney.
Alice Puttenham's hands dropped from her face and lay outstretched upon her knee. She sat, staring before her, unconscious of the garden outside, or of the passage of time. In some ways she was possessed of more beauty at thirty-seven than she had been at twenty.
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