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Updated: June 14, 2025
He has forgotten that people may be staring at him in return, maybe measuring his thoughts on this or that. He has forgotten everything, indeed, except Tita's pale, laughing face and dancing, tear-stained eyes. "Do you see a ghost?" whispers Mrs. Bethune to him, who has been watching him with cruel amusement. "I don't know," he answers, hardly hearing her.
The heather was not yet springing, but Jean could see that gorse was on the bloom, which he considered a favourable omen: they stepped out bravely on the short springy turf. Tita's steps were slower than those of the young pair, who were deaf to her calls for delay. Never to his dying day did Jean forget that happy night-walk.
Little things, but bitter to the senses of one highly cultured; and of course the Ryltons had been accustomed to the best of things always. Tita's phrases grated a good deal. That "make a fool of yourself" had sunk deep, and there were so many other extraordinary expressions. The women of his own world very often used them in fun, but Tita used them in earnest: that made all the difference.
The carriage that is to convey him to the station is at the door, and he almost swears at the delay that arises from Tita's non-appearance. Yet here here is rest. Here there is no one to breathe detestable congratulations into his ear no one. A tall, slight figure rises from a couch that is half hidden by a Chinese screen. She comes forward a step or two. Her face is pale. It is Marian Bethune.
The girl is now leaning forward, her small face rather white. "I mean that he has been in love with his cousin for the past two years." "His cousin!" Tita's thoughts run to Margaret. "Margaret?" "Nonsense!" says Lady Rylton; the idea strikes her as ludicrous.
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