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Updated: September 6, 2025
He then looked at the couples who had been married for several years. It was true that Mrs. Thornbury had a husband, and that for the most part she was wonderfully successful in bringing him into the conversation, but one could not imagine what they said to each other when they were alone.
"And the things you young people are going to see!" Mrs. Thornbury continued. She included them all in her forecast, she included them all in her maternity, although the party comprised William Pepper and Miss Allan, both of whom might have been supposed to have seen a fair share of the panorama.
"I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one is a good dancer," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at her with a smile. Helen swayed slightly as if she sat on wires. "I could dance for ever!" she said. "They ought to let themselves go more!" she exclaimed. "They ought to leap and swing. Look! How they mince!" "Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?" began Mrs. Elliot.
D'you know a man called ?" Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extreme solicitude came into her eyes. "There is Mr. Hirst," she said quietly. St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather blown about by the wind, and his cheeks looked terribly pale, unshorn, and cavernous.
Thornbury made a little exclamation, drew her lips together, and the tears rose in her eyes. Through them she looked at the hall which was now laid with great breadths of sunlight, and at the careless, casual groups of people who were standing beside the solid arm-chairs and tables.
He had reached the second column of the report, a spasmodic column, for the Irish members had been brawling three weeks ago at Westminster over a question of naval efficiency. After a disturbed paragraph or two, the column of print once more ran smoothly. "You have read it?" Mrs. Thornbury asked Miss Allan.
There was then a very long pause, which threatened to be final, when, mercifully, a bird about the size of a magpie, but of a metallic blue colour, appeared on the section of the terrace that could be seen from where they sat. Mrs. Thornbury was led to enquire whether we should like it if all our rooks were blue "What do you think, William?" she asked, touching her husband on the knee.
Thornbury here intervened, either because it was her mission to keep things smooth or because she had long wished to speak to Mr. Hirst, feeling as she did that young men were her sons. "I have lived all my life with people like your Aunt, Mr. Hirst," she said, leaning forward in her chair. Her brown squirrel-like eyes became even brighter than usual. "They have never heard of Gibbon.
"But my husband spends his life in digging up manuscripts which nobody wants." She was amused by Ridley's expression of startled disapproval. "There's a clever man in London called John who paints ever so much better than the old masters," Mrs. Flushing continued. "His pictures excite me nothin' that's old excites me." "But even his pictures will become old," Mrs. Thornbury intervened.
Walpole is here; I was then at Gloucester; so I hurried home, and have now some person to converse with who speaks my own language. He came yesterday from Lady Ailesbury's, and stays with me till Tuesday, and then I hope we shall return to London together. I am to have the satisfaction of another festival on Monday, on which day Mr. Walpole proposes to go and see Berkley and Thornbury Castles.
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