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Updated: May 8, 2025
"You are the image of Uncle George," says she, with such wicked spite that a smile parts his lips. "Oh! you can laugh if you like," says she, "but you are, for all that. You're worse than him," her anger growing because of that smile. "I never " "Never what?" "I never met such a cross cat in my life!" says Lady Rylton, turning her back on him.
"Don't study to be absurd!" says Lady Rylton, with a click of her fan that always means mischief. She throws herself back in her chair, and a tiny frown settles upon her brow. She is such a small creation of Nature's that only a frown of the slightest dimensions could settle itself comfortably between her eyes. Still, as a frown, it is worth a good deal!
Maurice, perhaps, talked very considerably less than most people; and, indeed, when he said he would gladly see her mistress of all he ought to have, he spoke something very near the truth. He was grateful to her beyond all words, and he had sworn to himself to be loyal to her. Lady Rylton was distinctly annoyed when she heard of the arrangements come to.
Minnie Hescott would lie far deeper than I did to save her brother's reputation, for with her brother's reputation her own would sink. I lied when I said I did not know where your precious wife was at that moment, but I lied for your sake, Maurice to save you from a woman who was betraying you, and who would drag you down to the very dust with her." Rylton lifts his head.
When people laugh seldom, one always knows their laugh. Before Tom Hescott turns the corner Rylton knows it is his. But his companion! "Why, there you are, Rylton!" says Colonel Neilson at the top of his voice. "By Jove! well met! We've been disputing about a point in the tenant right down here, and you can set us straight!"
"Well, it is over," says he. "That is. But your future life " "I'm not a favourite of gods, am I?" says he, laughing. "My future life! Well, I leave it to them. So Tita is looking well?" "Yes; quite well. A little pale, I said." "She never had much colour. She never speaks of me, I suppose?" "Sometimes yes." Rylton looks down at the carpet, and then laughs a little awkwardly.
"Good heavens! how vulgar she is!" says Mrs. Bethune. "She is insufferable intolerable!" says Lady Rylton, almost hysterically. She is sitting in the drawing-room with Margaret and Mrs. Bethune, near one of the windows that overlook the tennis court. The guests of the afternoon have gone; only the house-party remains, and still, in the dying daylight, the tennis balls are being tossed to and fro.
He might almost have believed himself content, but for that hateful monotonous voice at his ear. "Oh, it is pretty," says Tita, glancing round her. "It is lovely. It reminds me of Oakdean." "Oakdean?" "My old home," says she softly "where I lived with my father." "Ah, tell me something of your life," says Rylton kindly. No idea of making himself charming to her is in his thoughts.
"Oh, wait! Don't go! Oh, do stop!" cries she, in great distress. "Fancy your thinking of me when you were in town! And what a lovely, lovely ring! Oh! Maurice I'm sorry. I am indeed!" She holds out her hands to him. Rylton, still standing on the threshold of the door, looks back at her. Is it an apology? An admission that she has been wrong in her dealings with her cousin?
"What have I done now?" asks she. "That is what I have been trying to explain," says Lady Rylton, "but your temper is so frightful that I am afraid to go into anything. Temper, my dear Tita, should always be one's slave; it should never be given liberty except in one's room, with one's own maid or one's own husband." "Or one's own mother-in-law!" "Well, yes!
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