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Updated: May 7, 2025
It is so wonderful to me that he should care for me he who could have half the women in London at his feet." "Yes, he's the type that would attract them, I daresay," agreed Susan Fossett. "But are you quite sure that he does? care for you, I mean." "My dear," returned Miss Ramsbotham, "you remember Rochefoucauld's definition.
The lady's name was Henrietta Elizabeth Doone. It was said by the Morning Post that she was connected with the Doones of Gloucestershire. Doones of Gloucestershire Doones of Gloucestershire mused Miss Ramsbotham, Society journalist, who wrote the weekly Letter to Clorinda, discussing the matter with Peter Hope in the editorial office of Good Humour.
Miss Ramsbotham swept all such aside. It would be pleasant to have a bright young girl to live with her; teaching, moulding such an one would be a pleasant occupation. And thus it came to pass that Mr. Reginald Peters disappeared for a while from Bohemia, to the regret of but few, and there entered into it one Peggy Nutcombe, as pretty a child as ever gladdened the eye of man.
I need not add that it will afford me much pleasure to show you the mill, and also what we are doing generally, if you should at any time visit Crewe. Believe me very faithfully yours, " J. RAMSBOTHAM." I also communicated the invention to Mr.
"Love," said Miss Ramsbotham to the bosom friend, "is not regulated by reason. As you say, there were many men I might have married with much more hope of happiness. But I never cared for any other man. He was not intellectual, was egotistical, possibly enough selfish. The man should always be older than the woman; he was younger, and he was a weak character. Yet I loved him."
It was quite understandable; she knew he had never really been in love with her. She had thought him the type of man that never does fall in love, as the word is generally understood Miss Ramsbotham did not add, with anyone except himself and had that been the case, and he content merely to be loved, they might have been happy together.
The girl was the same; it was only her body that had grown older. I could see his eyes fixed upon my arms and neck. I had got to grow old in time, brown skinned, and wrinkled. I thought of him, growing bald, fat " "If you had fallen in love with the right man," had said Susan Fossett, "those ideas would not have come to you." "I know," said Miss Ramsbotham.
And the most ludicrous part of the resemblance was that she did not know the creature's surname. "By the way," said I, "what is your name?" "Carlotta." "Carlotta what?" I asked. "I have no other name." "Your father the Vice-Consul had one." She wrinkled her young forehead in profound mental effort. "Ramsbotham," she said at last, triumphantly. "Now look here, Miss Ramsbotham no," I broke off.
Ramsbotham, of the Factory, who had been chosen at unawares by the trustees before his principles had developed themselves; far less on his nominee, the wealthy butcher, always more demonstratively of the same mind.
I should like to have been pretty or handsome, of course; but no one can have all the good things of this world, and I have my brains. At one time, perhaps, yes; but now no, honestly I would not change myself." Miss Ramsbotham was sorry that no man had ever fallen in love with her, but that she could understand. "It is quite clear to me." So she had once unburdened herself to her bosom friend.
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