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Updated: June 12, 2025
I remember meeting old Rendle and Hawdon Sallust Hawdon of the eighties, you know not the old man he kept at home all three of them at White's, Rendle and Sallust and Crayle; Jack bet Rendle he wouldn't stop the next man he met in the street and claim him as an old friend and bring him in and, by Jove, he took it and brought him in, too sort of tramp chap he was, too dirty, untidy fellow but Rendle was game serious by Gad, he was.
Rendle was more resigned too this morning; she had cried her heart quiet through the night. "Bridget is better so," she could confide to Dick as he stood looking down at the girl, "the shame is done away with, sir, and God will look to the sin. I hold there ain't much to fear there, even though they won't bury her in the churchyard." "No, I don't think there is much to fear," he agreed.
"Why do they want you to see her?" "I can't know that till I have seen her, can I? Last night she happened to come into the Rendle cottage just after they had brought that poor girl home, and the sight must have upset her; anyway she fainted. I expect that is what Miss Rutherford is worried about." "It is hardly polite of her not to have brought her niece to call on me," said Mrs. Grant.
At first he was merely one more grain of frankincense on the altar of her insatiable divinity; but gradually a more personal note crept into their intercourse. If she still liked him only because he appreciated Rendle, she at least perceptibly distinguished him from the herd of Rendle's appreciators. Her attitude toward the great man's memory struck Danyers as perfect.
When we were apart he wrote to me continually he liked to have me share in all he was doing or thinking; he was impatient for my criticism of every new book that interested him; I was a part of his intellectual life. The pity of it was that I wanted to be something more. I was a young woman and I was in love with him not because he was Vincent Rendle, but just because he was himself!
Mary was too clever to lose her head, or at least to show she'd lost it but Anerton couldn't conceal his pride in the conquest. I've seen Mary shiver when he spoke of Rendle as our poet.
But there never was any "our life;" it was always "our lives" to the end.... If you knew what a relief it is to tell some one at last, you would bear with me, you would let me hurt you! I shall never be quite so lonely again, now that some one knows. Let me begin at the beginning. When I first met Vincent Rendle I was not twenty-five. That was twenty years ago.
Bridget Rendle had been a girl too, younger perhaps than the other one; but Bridget had dipped into the waters of life, and sorrow and sin had closed over her. The two girls were as far apart as the poles, it seemed almost irreverent to think of them in the same breath. Aunt Janet met him in the hall when she heard of his arrival.
A., he had included in his worship of Rendle the woman who had inspired not only such divine verse but such playful, tender, incomparable prose. Danyers never forgot the day when Mrs. Memorall happened to mention that she knew Mrs. Anerton. He had known Mrs.
I saw Aunt Janet's face as she spoke of the dead girl, and ... I do not know why I am telling you all this," she broke off, "it cannot be very interesting, but I do not want you to think that I feel as Bridget Rendle felt." "No," he agreed, "you are facing it with more courage than she had been taught to have." "It is not a question of courage," Joan answered.
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