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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Threepwood? Why did he want it?" "He needed money and he was going to raise it on " Mr. Peters exploded. "And I have been kicking because Aline can't marry him and has gone off with a regular fellow like young Emerson! He's a good boy young Emerson. I knew his folks. He'll make a name for himself one of these days. He's got get-up in him.
Under one photograph were printed the words: "Miss Aline Peters, who is to marry the Honorable Frederick Threepwood in June"; under the other: "The Honorable Frederick Threepwood, who is to marry Miss Aline Peters in June." Above the photographs was the legend: "Forthcoming International Wedding. Son of the Earl of Emsworth to marry American heiress."
For the space of some minutes he remained plunged in sad meditation; then, picking up the telephone from the table at his side, he asked for a number. "Hello!" "Hello!" responded a rich voice at the other end of the wire. "Oh, I say! Is that you, Dickie?" "Who is that?" "This is Freddie Threepwood. I say, Dickie, old top, I want to see you about something devilish important.
He suspected him nebulously as a snake in the grass; as an influence working against the orderly progress of events concerning the marriage that had been arranged and would shortly take place between Miss Peters and the Honorable Frederick Threepwood.
Grave and earnest men, at Eton and elsewhere, had tried Freddie Threepwood with Greek, with Latin and with English; and the sheeplike stolidity with which he declined to be interested in the masterpieces of all three tongues had left them with the conviction that he would never read anything.
Perhaps the greatest hardship in being an invalid is the fact that people come and see you and keep your spirits up. The Honorable Freddie Threepwood suffered extremely from this. His was not a gregarious nature and it fatigued his limited brain powers to have to find conversation for his numerous visitors.
"Well, you see, Miss Valentine, the Honorable Frederick Threepwood is about to be married; and he thought that possibly, on the whole, it would be better that the letters and poetry which he wrote you were nonexistent." Not all R. Jones' gentlemanliness and during this speech he diffused it like a powerful scent in waves about him could hide the unpleasant meaning of the words.
You have made yourself a popular success, but you might just as easily have become a social outcast. As it is, I am afraid Mr. Beach did not approve." "I'm afraid he didn't. In a minute or so I'm going to fawn on him and make all well." Joan lowered her voice. "It was quite true, what that odious little man said. Freddie Threepwood did write me letters. Of course I destroyed them long ago."
"He was afraid I might try to blackmail him?" said Joan, with formidable calm. R. Jones raised and waved a fat hand deprecatingly. "My dear Miss Valentine!" Joan rose and R. Jones followed her example. The interview was plainly at an end. "Please tell Mr. Threepwood to make his mind quite easy. He is in no danger." "Exactly exactly; precisely!
He was quite sure that when he began to speak he had meant something, but what it was escaped him for the moment. He had been urged to the homily by the fact that at a neighboring table he had caught sight of a stout young Briton, with a red face, who reminded him of the Honorable Frederick Threepwood. He mentioned this to Aline.
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