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Updated: May 14, 2025
"The first thing we know you'll be marrying one of those people we read about, with more millions than there are cars on the Olive Street line." Honora was a little indignant. "I wish you wouldn't talk so, Peter," she said. "In the first place, I shan't see any but girls at Sutcliffe. I could only see you for a few minutes once a week if you were there.
She would go through the Ilford fields for ever and ever with her hot hand in his; she happy and he innocent; innocent for ever and ever. Harry Craven, her playmate of two hours, he would always be playing, always laughing, always holding her hand, like Roddy, without knowing that he held it. Suppose Mr. Sutcliffe had come back. She would have hurt them more and more. Mrs.
Cousin Eleanor, with a delightful sense of wrong-doing, yielded to the temptation to adorn her; and the saleswomen, who knew Mrs. Hanbury, made indiscreet-remarks. Such a figure and such a face, and just enough of height! Two new gowns were ordered, to be tried on at Sutcliffe, and as many hats, and an ulster, and heaven knows what else. Memory fails.
An hour later she was sitting on the slope under the hill road of Greffington Edge. He lay on his back beside her in the bracken. Lindley Vickers. Suddenly he pulled himself up into a sitting posture like her own. She was then aware that Mr. Sutcliffe had gone up the road behind them; he had lifted his hat and passed her without speaking. "What does Sutcliffe talk to you about?" "Farming."
You simply could not do it. She shut her eyes. She could feel Mr. Sutcliffe beside her in the train and the carriage rocking. Dijon, Avignon, Cannes. She could hear his voice telling her the names. She would stand beside him at the window, and look out. And Mrs. Sutcliffe would sit in her corner, and smile at them kindly, glad because they were so happy.
Here he had found Dick, a born sailor, walking the heaving and plunging deck and chatting animatedly with Mr Sutcliffe, who, honest man, felt somewhat at a loss to determine precisely the manner of his behaviour toward the youngster whom he had so recently patronised and ordered about, but who was now translated aft to the quarterdeck upon an equal footing with himself.
"Your Cousin Eleanor has invited you to go this winter with Edith and Mary to Sutcliffe." Sutcliffe! No need to tell Honora what Sutcliffe was her cousins had talked of little else during the past winter; and shown, if the truth be told, just a little commiseration for Honora.
There was Gresham College in the city, in existence since 1597, and doing not ill on its limited basis; there was Chelsea College, founded by Dean Sutcliffe of Exeter in 1610, "to the intent that learned men might there have maintenance to answer all the adversaries of religion" but which, after a rickety infancy, and laughed at by Laud as "Controversy College," had been lost in lawsuits: why not, with inclusion or exclusion of these and other foundations, set up in London a great University on the best modern principles, abolishing the monopoly of Oxford and Cambridge?
"How did you guess it?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Yes to boarding-school. To Sutcliffe, on the Hudson, with Edith and Mary. Aren't you glad? You look as though you had seen a ghost." "Do I?" said Peter. "Don't stand there in the rain," commanded Honora; "come into the parlour, and I'll tell you all about it." He came in. She took the umbrella from him, and put it in the rack.
But she's angry with the Sutcliffes." "Why?" "Because they've seen him." "How many Sutcliffes are there?" "Only him and Mrs. Sutcliffe. The son's in India. "They'll never ask him again, and Mamma won't go without him. She says we can go if we like, but you can see she'll think us skunks if we do." "Well then we can't."
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