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Updated: May 5, 2025
"You wouldn't leave Tredowen, Miss Juliet!" he protested. "It would break my heart, of course," she declared, "but I would do it and trust to time to heal it up again. Tredowen seems like home to me, but it isn't really, you know. Some day, Sir Wingrave Seton may want to come back and live there himself. Are you quite certain, Mr.
"With an old woman who used to look after our cottage," she answered. "But she is very poor, and she cannot keep me any longer. Mrs. Colson says that I must go and work, and I am afraid. I don't know anyone except at Tredowen! And I don't know how to work! And I don't want to go away from the pictures, and the garden, and the sea! It is all so beautiful, isn't it? Don't you love Tredowen?"
"And how old are you?" "Fourteen next birthday." "And all that time," he asked, "has there been no one living at Tredowen?" "No one except Mrs. Tresfarwin," she answered. "It belongs to a very rich man who is in prison." Wingrave's face was immovable. He stood on one side, however, and turned towards his companion.
I simply gave orders that you should be looked after." She laughed softly. "Looked after! Why, I have lived at Tredowen. I have had a governess, a pony to drive. Heaven knows how many luxuries!" "That," he interrupted hastily, "is nothing. The house is better occupied.
The former at once made his adieux and took a short cut to the stables. Wingrave, who leaned heavily upon his stick, clutched Morrison by the arm. "Who is it, Morrison?" he demanded. "It is Lady Ruth Barrington, sir," the man answered. "Alone?" "Quite alone, sir." The library at Tredowen was a room of irregular shape, full of angles and recesses lined with bookcases.
Tredowen has been in your mother's family for a good many years, and I should doubt whether it will be easily disposed of." The man at the head of the table raised his head. He looked steadily at the lawyer, who began to wish that he had left the room with his clerk. Decidedly, Sir Wingrave Seton was not an easy man to get on with.
"Do you remember, when we went down to Tredowen just before we left for America, a little, long-legged, black-frocked child, whom we met in the gardens the organist's daughter, you know?" "What of her?" Wingrave asked. "It was she who was with me," Aynesworth remarked. "It was she who saw you in the box with the Marchioness of Westchester."
He temporized by referring back to matters already discussed, solely for the purpose of prolonging the interview. "You have quite made up your mind, then, to put the Tredowen property on the market," he remarked. "You will excuse my reminding you of the fact that you have large accumulated funds in hand, and nearly a hundred thousand pounds worth of easily realizable securities.
There are many things for you to learn before you grow up." "I am not a dunce," she replied. "I can talk French and German, and do arithmetic, and play the organ. Father used to teach me these things. I can learn at Tredowen very well. I hope that my friends will let me stay here." Wingrave took no more notice of her. She and Aynesworth walked together to the station.
The light died out of her face all of a sudden. The delicate beauty of her gleaming eyes and quivering mouth had vanished. She was once more the pale, wan little child he had seen coming slowly up the garden path at Tredowen. "You are going so soon!" she murmured. He took her hand and led her away over the short green turf of the common. "We only came for a few hours," he told her.
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