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Updated: May 31, 2025
All the ladies of Slowbridge wore caps; and all being respectfully plagiarized from Lady Theobald, without any reference to age, size, complexion, or demeanor, the result was sometimes a little trying. Lady Theobald's head-dresses were of a severe and bristling order.
For a moment she made no remark, a marvellous thought shaping itself slowly in her mind. "Aunt Belinda," she said at length, "did nobody ever" "Ah, no, my dear! No, no, I assure you!" cried Miss Belinda, in the greatest possible trepidation. "Ah, dear, no! Such such things rarely very rarely happen in Slowbridge; and, besides, I couldn't possibly have thought of it. I couldn't, indeed!"
He saw in Lady Theobald, not the imposing head and social front of Slowbridge social life, the power who rewarded with approval and punished with a frown, but a tiresome, pretentious old woman, whom his mother had asked him, for some feminine reason, to visit. "She feels she has a claim upon us, Francis," she had said appealingly. "Well," he had remarked, "that is rather deuced cool, isn't it?
"You have spent the greater part of your life in Slowbridge?" he condescended to say in the course of the evening. "I have lived here always," Lucia answered. "I have never been away more than a week at a time." "Ah?" interrogatively. "I hope you have not found it dull." "No," smiling a little. "Not very. You see, I have known nothing gayer."
"Where is Slowbridge?" he asked in a gloomy voice. "It's a fairly large place near London," his mother told him. "It's near Eton and Windsor and Stoke Poges where Gray wrote his Elegy, which we learned last summer. You remember, don't you?" she asked anxiously, for she wanted Mark to cut a figure with his uncle. "Wolfe liked it," said Mark. "And I like it too," he added ungraciously.
Catholic Prayers for Church of England People by the Reverend A.H. Stanton. Look at this book, Helen. The Catholic Religion by Vernon Staley. No wonder you hate Protestants, you ungrateful boy. No wonder you're longing to burn your uncle and aunt. It'll be in the Slowbridge Herald to-morrow. Headlines! Ruin! They'll think I'm a Jesuit in disguise.
"But how should we learn? We none of us know Lord Lansdowne, or even the marquis. I think he is only a second or third cousin. We are a little just a little set in Slowbridge, you know, my dear: at least, I have thought so sometimes lately." "I must confess," remarked my lady, "that I have not regarded the matter in that light."
When Miss Bassett returned, Octavia was standing before the window, watching the carriage drive away, and playing absently with one of her ear-rings as she did so. "What an old fright she is!" was her first guileless remark. Miss Belinda quite bridled. "My dear," she said, with dignity, "no one in Slowbridge would think of applying such a phrase to Lady Theobald."
"This," her ladyship had said in sepulchral tones, when she recovered her breath, "this is one of the results of Miss Octavia Bassett." And nothing more had been said on the subject since. No one in Slowbridge was in more brilliant spirits than Octavia herself on the morning of the fete. Before breakfast Miss Belinda was startled by the arrival of another telegram, which ran as follows:
"It is to be hoped that Octavia's stay in Slowbridge will prove beneficial to her," said her ladyship in her most judicial manner. "The atmosphere is wholly unlike that which has surrounded her during her previous life." "I am sure it will prove beneficial to her," said Miss Belinda eagerly. "The companionship of well-trained and refined young people cannot fail to be of use to her.
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