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Updated: May 8, 2025
Gower, who is an indefatigable player, has called on Miss Hescott to get up a double with him. The idea has evidently caught on, for now everyone seems to be swarming tennis-wards, rackets in hand, and tennis shoes on feet. Rylton, turning back from the stables an hour later, and with a mind still much upset, finds all the courts occupied, and everyone very much alive.
There is something," says Margaret somewhat impatiently. "Did you see the poor child's eyes, and her whole air? Her pretty little attempts at unconcern?" "I thought Rylton looked rather put out, too." "I didn't look at him. I have no patience with him. It is a mad marriage for any man to make." She pauses. "I am afraid there was some disagreeableness last night." She hesitates again.
Tita puts up her hands as if to warn him off. "I am sorry I ever came here," says she at last. "I am sorry I ever married you. I shall never forgive this never!" "And I," says Rylton. "Have I nothing to forgive?" "Nothing, nothing," passionately. "I came here to-night because I was lonely, and wanted to talk to somebody. I came here to show you my pretty new frock; and how have you received me?
You," anxiously looking at him with searching eyes, "you wouldn't want to kiss me, would you?" She looks so pretty as she puts this startling question, that Rylton loses himself a little. "I don't know." "Then you had better know, and at once," says Miss Bolton, with decision. The whole affair seems to be trembling in the balance.
It might well have been otherwise, as Lady Rylton is still, even at forty-six, a very graceful woman. Small very small a sort of pocket Venus as it were, but so carefully preserved that at forty-six she might easily be called thirty-five. If it were not for her one child, the present Sir Maurice Rylton, this fallacy might have been carried through.
Yet Lady Rylton smiles on, enjoying the changes in Margaret's face. It is a terrible smile, coming from so fragile a creature. Margaret's face has grown white, but she answers coldly and with deliberation. All that past horrible time her lover, his unworthiness, his desertion all her young, young life lies once more massacred before her.
His uncle might die, and then Maurice, who was his heir, would be a rich man; but his uncle was only sixty-five, and he might marry again, and No, she would refuse! Rylton had pressed his suit many times, but she had never yielded. It was always the same argument, she would not ruin him.
"I am not going out either," says she, smiling gently at him. To go now will be to betray fear, and she no, she will not give in, any way, she will never show the white feather. She will finish this hour with Lady Rylton, whatever it may cost her. "Really?" asks Gower.
"Well, but you see," says Rylton, "some men pride themselves on the pedigree of their dogs, and perhaps your uncle " "Oh, if you are going to defend him!" says she, rising with a stiff little air. "I'm not I'm not, indeed," says Rylton. "Nothing could excuse his refusing you that one puppy. But in other ways he is not unkind to you?" "Yes, he is; he won't let me go anywhere."
What awful possibilities lie behind that! "Yes, yes, of course. Yet I fancied I heard voices." "How curious are our fancies!" says poor Margaret, taking the tone of an advanced Theosophist, even while her heart is dying within her. "Where is Tita?" asks Rylton suddenly. To Margaret's guilty conscience the direct question sounds like an open disbelief in her former answers.
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