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Updated: June 9, 2025
Chichester, calling again to Tita, and patting the chair in question. "You look tired. This is a perfect lounge." "She looks as if she had been crying," says old Miss Gower, frowning at Tita over her glasses. Again that strange pang contracts Rylton's heart. Has she been crying and because of him? "Looks! What are looks?" cries Mrs. Chichester gaily. "Looks always belie one."
And all her dear dogs have been sent to Oakdean, so that her hands are full of favourites. As for Maurice himself, he is delightful. He doesn't even know how to scold. And it will always to be like this always. As for that story of Lady Rylton's about Marian Bethune why, Marian is quite an old thing! And besides well, besides, it doesn't matter.
"Care! why should I care?" says she suddenly, Lady Rylton's last words clinging to her brain, in spite of all its swift wanderings during the last sixty seconds. "Such an admirable indifference would almost lead me to believe that you had been born of good parentage," says Lady Rylton, cold with disappointed revenge.
On less" again she goes close to him and presses the fingers of one hand against his breast "on far less evidence than we could produce many a divorce has been procured." Rylton's eyes are fixed upon her. A sense of revulsion is sickening him. How her eyes are shining! So might a fiend look; and her fingers they seem to burn through his breast into his very soul.
She waits for a second as it were, just time enough to let her see the nervous movement of his brows, and then she laughs. "I've escaped that bore," says she, nodding her head. She throws herself into a big chair. "And now, as the parsons say, 'to continue'; you were advising me to ask " "Your uncle." All the brightness has died out of Rylton's voice; he looks dull, uninterested.
It will be a gift of no mean order, and whether it be well received or not, will always be a gift to be remembered, perhaps with gratitude. And Minnie, who is strictly practical if nothing else, sees a fair hope of return in her present plan. She likes Tita in her way likes her perhaps better than she likes most people, and Tita may be useful to her as Sir Maurice Rylton's wife.
The pulling up of the skirt conduces a good deal to the showing of a lovely little foot and ankle, and Margaret, who has the word "hoyden" still ringing in her ears, and can see Lady Rylton's cold, aristocratic, disdainful face, wishes the girl had had the biscuit in a basket. "Oh, here is Miss Knollys!" cries Tita, running to her. "He has got some more biscuits in his pockets."
Rylton's eyes are resting upon hers, as if surprised at this new fairness of hers. His glance is full of admiration, yet there is something of sadness of anger in it, too, that annoys her, in spite of her exultation. For whom is the anger for that little fool he has married? It seems to her an absurd thing that he should cast a thought, even an angry one, upon his wife when she Marian is here.
Just before I came here I had a real good run my uncle's groom had one horse, I had the other; it was over the downs. I won." She rests her chin upon her hands. Lady Rylton's face pales with horror. A race with a groom! "Your uncle must give you good mounts," says Mr. Woodleigh. "It is all he does give me," says the girl, with a pout. "Yes; I may ride, but that is all.
She looks at him, and, leaning back again in her chair, bursts out laughing. She has flung her arms over her head again, and now looks at him from under one of them with a mischievous smile. "Is that the whole?" says she. "He used to call me that years ago. He used to say I was like a fairy queen." "Used he?" Rylton's face is untranslatable. "Yes. I was the smallest child alive, I do believe."
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