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Updated: June 23, 2025
"But weren't the flowers nice?" "Ah and the trees, and the birds but, by Jove, the humans do their best to dress the balance!" "What a misanthrope you're getting!" "I'd like to run a stud for two-leggers; they want proper breeding. What sort of a fellow is young Summerhay? Not a bad face." She answered impassively: "Yes; it's so alive."
The lights went out one by one in the houses opposite; no cabs passed now, and scarce a passenger was afoot, but Summerhay sat like a man in a trance, the smile coming and going on his lips; and behind him the air that ever stirs above the river faintly moved with the tide flowing up.
His voice grew higher. "Don't try to persuade me out of it. It's no good." Lady Summerhay, from whose comely face a frock, as it were, had slipped, clasped her hands together on the book. Such a swift descent of "life" on one to whom it had for so long been a series of "cases" was cruel, and her son felt this without quite realizing why.
And yet, except at week-ends, when she went back to her baby at Mildenham, she saw Summerhay most days in the Row, at the opera, or at Bury Street. She had a habit of going to St. James's Park in the late afternoon and sitting there by the water. Was it by chance that he passed one day on his way home from chambers, and that, after this, they sat there together constantly?
Relief, if overwhelming, is slowly realized; but when, at last, what she had escaped and what lay before her were staring full in each other's face, it seemed to her that she must cry out, and tell the whole world of her intoxicating happiness. And the moment little Gyp was in Betty's arms, she sat down and wrote to Summerhay: "DARLING, "I've had a fearful time.
Summerhay, looking down at her gloomily, answered: "I've got bad news for you, Mother." Lady Summerhay closed the book and searched his face with apprehension. She knew that expression. She knew that poise of his head, as if butting at something. He looked like that when he came to her in gambling scrapes. Was this another? Bryan had always been a pickle. His next words took her breath away.
He had lain there all the morning since his master went up by the early train. Nearly sixteen years old, he was deaf now and disillusioned, and every time that Summerhay left him, his eyes seemed to say: "You will leave me once too often!"
They spent two hours among those endless pictures, talking a little of art and of much besides, almost as alone as in the railway carriage. But, when she had refused to let him walk back with her, Summerhay stood stock-still beneath the colonnade.
Summerhay had not realized the extent of the danger, but he had known that it existed, especially since Scotland. It would be interesting as the historians say to speculate on what he would have done, if he could have foretold what would happen. But he had certainly not foretold the crisis of yesterday evening.
And so it had better be, please, as it would be if I were just his common mistress. That will be perfectly all right for both of us. It was very good of you to come, though. Thank you and good-bye." Lady Summerhay literally faltered with speech and hand.
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