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Updated: June 13, 2025
All the way to London, Walter pondered whether there could be any reality in what she had said about Sefton. Was it not possible that she might have imagined him jealous? Sefton's dislike of her treatment of him might to her have seemed displeasure at her familiarity with him!
But Dolores had a matter on which she was very anxious. 'Connie, do they always read one's letters first? I mean the old people, like Aunt Lily. 'What! has she been reading your letters? 'She says she always shall, except father's and Maude Sefton's, because papa spoke to her about that.
"If my old friend Sefton's son, could come back again," he said, "he would be more welcome to me than you are, Phebe. How often do I fancy him sitting yonder in Sefton's chair, watching me with his dear eyes!" "But suppose he had deceived us all," she continued, "if he had escaped from your anger by another fraud; a worse fraud!
She looked down on the poor ragged peasant at her feet, with his gaunt and scarred features, and his slowly articulated speech. There seemed nothing strange in such a man not being able to recall Roland Sefton's dying words. It was probable that he barely understood them; and most likely he could not gather up the meaning of what she herself was saying.
She looked forward to the afternoon as a long martyrdom to be endured; the thought of Mrs. Sefton's and Richard's reproachful faces came between her and all enjoyment. Edna took no notice of her unusual gravity; she had gained her end, and obliged Bessie to bear her unwilling company, and so she was satisfied.
Walter's heart had been as water, now it had turned to ice, and with the coldness came strength: he could bear anything except this desert of a woman. The moment Sefton had thus spoken, he rose and came forward not so much, I imagine, to Sefton's surprise as Lufa's and said, "Thank you, Mr. Sefton, for undeceiving me. I owe you, Lady Lufa, the debt of a deep distrust hereafter of poetic ladies."
But when she lifted up the mildewed and dust-covered volume lying uppermost and opened it, her eyes fell first upon her own portrait, stained, faded, nearly blotted out; yet herself as she was when she became Roland Sefton's wife.
"No; you shall come home with me," returned Bessie, moved to this sudden inspiration by the weary look in Miss Sefton's face. "We are not strangers; my father and your mother were friends; that is sufficient introduction. Mother is the kindest woman in the world every one says so. We are not rich people, but we can make you comfortable.
Heywood tells me that there are many Catholics among the lower classes in Lancashire and Cheshire, probably the descendants of retainers of the old Catholic nobility and gentry, who are more numerous in these shires than in other parts of England. The present Lord Sefton's grandfather was the first of that race who became Protestant. December 25th.
"But of course one meets every one at Brighton, so I ought not to be surprised. I only came down last night, and I have already exchanged greetings with half a dozen acquaintances. Have you been here long?" "About ten days. I am staying with the Sefton's at Glenyan Mansions. Mrs. Sefton and Edna are both here." "Edna here?" and then he bit his lip, and a dark flush crossed his face.
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