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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Breaking just where he did, I'd have bet on that fox doubling back under Talepenny wood and making across the vale for the earths in the big Brockhurst warren," Lord Shotover declared. "Would you, though?" said his father. "Very reasonable forecast, very reasonable, indeed. Quite the likeliest thing for him to do, only he didn't do it.
After much thinking, he concluded that he must wait: opportunity might suggest mode; and he would rather find than make opportunity! Lovers' walks. He had not long to wait. That very afternoon, going a message for the head-clerk, he met Ann walking with a young lady who must be Miss Shotover. Neither sister seemed happy with the other.
Never touch spirits in the daytime and never have. No reflection upon other men's habits." He turned an admiring, fatherly glance upon the tall, well-made Shotover. "Other men know their own business best. Always have been a great advocate for believing every man knows his own business best. Still stick to my own habits. Like to be consistent.
Lucky fellow, Shotover." The kindly nobleman beamed upon her. He was nothing if not chivalrous. Mentally, all the same, he was much perplexed. "Of course, I remember who she is. But I understood it was Ludovic," he said to himself. "Made sure it was Ludovic. Uncommonly attractive, high-bred woman. Very striking looking pair, she and Shotover. Can't fancy Shotover settled though.
For, indeed, how slowly the minutes did pass! Lord Shotover was walking again. The horse rattled its bit, and pawed the ground impatient of delay. Though lofty, the room appeared close and hot, with drawn blinds and shut windows. Honoria began to move about restlessly, threading her way between the pieces of shrouded furniture. A chalk drawing of Lady Calmady stood on an easel in the far corner.
Stephen!" she said under her breath, "it's because I've a few things to scold you about that I've asked you to Shotover." "I suppose I know," he said. "I should hope you do. I've a letter to-night from your mother." "From my mother?" "I want you to go over it with me if we can find a minute after dinner."
Years before, Grace Ferrall had snapped her slim fingers in his face; and here, at Shotover, the field was limited. Mrs.
"I give you my word, my dear boy, I never felt more awkward in my life," he said, subsequently, to his chosen confidant, Shotover. "Can quite understand Calmady doesn't care to court publicity. Told his mother I quite understood. Shouldn't care to court it myself if I had the misfortune to share his well, personal peculiarities, don't you know, poor young fellow.
I own I always have hated a needle worse well, worse than the devil! And I can organise, and can speak fairly well, and manage business affairs tidily. And have I not even been known low be it spoken to beat you at lawn tennis, and Lord Shotover at billiards?" "And to overthrow my most Socratic father in argument.
"What do you want?" he demanded hotly. "My dear good fellow," Lord Shotover began, with the most assuaging air of apology. "I assure you the very last thing I we I mean I want is to be a nuisance. Only Miss St. Quentin thought in fact, Decies, don't you see dash it all, you know, there seemed to be some sort of worry going on out here and so "
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