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Updated: June 25, 2025
Like true women, Lady Saxondale and her sister, accompanied by their hostess and her brother, Colonel Denslow, seized the first favorable opportunity to call at the rooms of Mr. Quentin. They found him the next morning sitting up in a comfortable chair, the picture of desolation, notwithstanding the mighty efforts of Dickey Savage and the convivial millionaire.
The arrival of the party put new life into the situation, and it was not long before Phil found his spirits soaring skyward. "Tell me the truth about this awful duel," commanded Lady Saxondale, after Dickey had collected the other members of the party about a table to which tall glasses with small stems were brought at his call.
"I ran away with the man I love," she answered, bravely. "It is a lie!" shrieked the Italian. Saxondale seized his hand in time to prevent the drawing of a revolver from his coat pocket. "'Damn you! This is a trick!" "You have Miss Garrison's word for it, your excellency. She was not abducted, and your search has been for naught," said the big Englishman. "There are no abductors here.
"I must speak with you, Lord Saxondale," cried Dorothy, clutching his arm and drawing him apart from the pale-faced group. Eagerly she whispered in his ear, stamping her foot in reply to his blank objections. In the end she grasped both his shoulders and looked up into his astonished eyes determinedly, holding him firmly until he nodded his head gravely.
"To the Earl of Saxondale, ma'am." "Then, I know where it is. This is the old place in Luxemburg you were telling me about." "That isn't a question, but you are right." "But how is it that I am here?" "You can answer that question better than I, Miss Garrison."
It was some time before she could utter a word to those who stood about eagerly anxiously watching the play of emotions in her face. "O, you will never know how glorious you all look to me. How is it that I am here? Where are those awful men? What has happened to me, Lady Saxondale, tell me? I cannot breathe till everything is explained to me," she cried, her voice trembling with gladness.
He was a good-looking, stalwart chap with a very fetching drawl, infinite gentility, and a man despite his monocle, while she was beautiful, witty and womanly; therefore it is reasonable to suspect that it must have been love that made her Lady Saxondale. Lord Bob and Lady Frances were frequent visitors to New York. He liked New York, and New Yorkers liked him.
Lady Saxondale turned quickly upon hearing the excited words of the girl who but a moment before had been the personification of reserve. "What are you saying, Jane? Is there anything wrong?" she asked. "Everything is wrong Philip is dead!" cried Lady Jane, ready to faint. "Dickey says there are eight gashes, and that he is all dead! Why don't you tell us about it, Dickey?"
Bob, I know where I've seen that Italian prince. He was in Rio Janeiro with a big Italian opera company just before I left there for New York." "What! But he said he'd never been in America," exclaimed Saxondale, wide awake. "Well, he lied, that's all. I am positive he's the man, and the best proof in the world is the certainty that he remembers me.
Philip Quentin took the forlorn, even distressed, message from the hands of Lady Saxondale, kissed it devoutly, and placed it in his pocket. "Philip is too ill to go out on this desperate chase," cried Lady Saxondale. "Ill! I'll die if I am not gone from here in five minutes!
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