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Updated: May 31, 2025
What weak woman could resist him; what vicious man help following where he led!" "'Tis not so easy for a man who will be Duke one day to keep straight courses," Roxholm had once said to Mr. Fox, "as 'tis for a man who must live a narrower life and work for his daily bread.
Roxholm regarded him for a moment as if a new thought had presented itself to his mind. "And remember also," he added, "if any should ask you to try to paint a copy from memory or to lie in wait for the young lady again and make another 'tis better" and his voice had in it both meaning and command "'tis far better to please a patron, than a purchaser who has a momentary caprice.
"But it struck me once that I heard of her though she is no fit companion for you yet and Heaven knows if she ever will be. The path before her is too full of traps for safety." Roxholm did not speak.
His youth and beauty and cruel, confident air had made it seem devilish in its suggestion of what his past almost boyish years might have held of pitiless pleasures and pitiless indifference to the consequences, which, while they were added triumphs to him, were ruin and despair to their victims. "The laugh in his blue eye was damnable," Roxholm murmured.
Together she and Roxholm would wander through all the dear places he had loved in his childish years into the rose gardens, which were a riot of beauty and marvellous colours and the pride and joy of the head gardener, who lived for and among them, as indeed they were the pride of those who worked under his command, not a man or boy of them knowing any such pleasure as to see her Grace walk through their labyrinths of bloom with my lord Marquess, each of them rejoicing in the loveliness on every side and gathering the fairest blossoms as they went, until sometimes they carried away with them rich sheaves of crimson and pink and white and yellow.
The physical body of the young Marquess of Roxholm was a fortress well-nigh impregnable. 'Tis not well to take liberties with a creature who takes none himself, and can strike a blow which would fell an ox, if need be.
We are ready to cheer thee up, Roxholm, with the jolliest story. 'Tis of the new beauty, who is but twelve years old and has set half the world talking." "Mistress Clorinda Wildairs of Wildairs Hall in Gloucestershire," put in Bob Langford, one of the cronies, a black-eyed lad of twenty.
And the men who lay on the ground roared till they rolled there, and Roxholm gnawed his lip again, though not all from mirth, for there was in his mind another thing. She did not laugh but stood in the same position, but now looking out across the country spread below.
This man inspired Roxholm with a singular feeling; he in fact exercised over him the fascination he exercised over so many others, but in the case of the young Marquess, wonder and admiration were mixed with other emotions. There were stories so brilliant to be heard of him on all sides, stories of other actions so marvellously ruthless and of things so wondrously mean.
So now is the time to visit him. It was in Gloucestershire he found her " He stopped and turned round. "Hang me! 'Tis the very one Bet wrote of, and I read you the letter. Dost remember it? The vixen who clouted the Chaplain for kissing her." "Yes," said Roxholm; "I remember." Tom rattled on in monstrous spirits.
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