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Updated: May 20, 2025
Eustace Rindge, who had tried a second throw for happiness, such votaries of excitement would undoubtedly have been more than glad to avail themselves of the secluded hospitality of Grenoble for that which they would have been pleased to designate as "a lively time." Honora shuddered at the thought: And, as though the shudder had been prophetic, one morning the mail contained a letter from Mrs.
At last she turned and reluctantly retraced her steps, as one whose hour of reprieve has expired. If Mrs. Rindge had a girlish air when fully arrayed for the day, she looked younger and more angular still in that article of attire known as a dressing gown.
It was Honora who went up to her with a calmness that awed them. "Tell me," she said, "is he dead?" Mrs. Rindge nodded, and broke into hysterical sobbing. "And I wanted to ride him myself," she sobbed, as they led her up the steps. In less than an hour they brought him home and laid him in the room in which he had slept from boyhood, and shut the door. Honora looked into his face.
To cite an example, Mr. Pembroke was continually being addressed as the Third Vice-president, an allusion that Mrs. Rindge eventually explained. "You ought to have been with us coming up on the train," she cried to Honora; "I thought surely we'd be put off. We were playing bridge in the little room at the end of the car when the conductor came for our tickets.
Rindge was in a habit, and one by one the saddle horses were led out, chiefly for her inspection; and she seemed to Honora to become another woman as she looked them over with a critical eye and discussed them with Hugh and O'Grady, the stud-groom, and talked about pedigrees and strains. For she was renowned in this department of sport on many fields, both for recklessness and skill.
"My dear, you did well to go to bed." "And to cap it all," cried Mrs. Rindge, "Georgie fell over backwards in one of those beautiful Adam chairs, and there's literally nothing left of it. If an ocean steamer had hit it, or a freight train, it couldn't have been more thoroughly demolished." "You pushed me," declared Mr. Pembroke. "Did I, Hugh? I barely touched him."
It was Honora who went up to her with a calmness that awed them. "Tell me," she said, "is he dead?" Mrs. Rindge nodded, and broke into hysterical sobbing. "And I wanted to ride him myself," she sobbed, as they led her up the steps. In less than an hour they brought him home and laid him in the room in which he had slept from boyhood, and shut the door. Honora looked into his face.
Hugh, pausing in his badinage with Mrs. Rindge, looked at her. "Cheer up, Honora," he said. "I'm afraid this first house-party is too much for her," said Mrs. Kame. Honora made some protest that seemed to satisfy them, tried to rally herself, and succeeded sufficiently to pass muster.
She tried to compose herself, that she might be able to present comprehensively to his finite masculine mind the ache of today. "Hugh, it's that black horse." She could not bring herself to pronounce the name Mrs. Rindge had christened him. "What about him?" he said, putting on his waistcoat. "Don't ride him!" she pleaded. "I I'm afraid of him I've been afraid of him ever since that day.
Eustace Rindge, who had tried a second throw for happiness, such votaries of excitement would undoubtedly have been more than glad to avail themselves of the secluded hospitality of Grenoble for that which they would have been pleased to designate as "a lively time." Honora shuddered at the thought: And, as though the shudder had been prophetic, one morning the mail contained a letter from Mrs.
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