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Updated: June 2, 2025
And not even Tressady's prejudice which, indeed, was already vanishing could fail to see in the beautiful woman beside him the fitting voice and spirit of such a scene. To-night he said to himself that one must needs believe her simple, in spite of report.
One, a long, thin lad, came forward with leaps and gambols, in spite of his weakness, and fell almost at Tressady's feet. As he recognised the tall man standing above him, his bloodless mouth twitched into a broad grin. "I say, give us a chance. Take me out won't you?" It was Mary Batchelor's grandson.
Betty glanced quickly at the expression of the eyes which were bent upon the further reaches of the park; then, to Letty's astonishment, she bent forward impulsively and laid her little hand on Lady Tressady's arm. "Do you mind telling me," she said in a loud whisper, with a glance over her shoulder, "your candid opinion of her as a country lady?"
It can't be a telegram." Then a guilty remembrance struck her. She hurried to the door as Kenrick entered. "Lady Tressady's maid would like to see you, my lady. They want Sir George's address. The doctors think she will hardly live over to-morrow." And behind Kenrick, Justine, the French maid, pushed her way in, weeping and exclaiming.
Yet nothing in truth could be a more inevitable outcome of character and circumstance than these letters of Marcella Maxwell to George Tressady's wife. Marcella had suffered under a strong natural remorse, and to free her heart from the load of it she had thrown herself into an effort of reconciliation and atonement with all the passion, the subtlety, and the resource of her temperament.
George was the first to help the old fireman to his feet. But instead of listening to any praises of his own conduct, he was no sooner clinging to Tressady's arm than he called to Madan: "Mr. Madan, sir!" "Aye, Moses." "Have ye heard aught of them in the West Heading yet?" "No, Moses; we must get these fellows out first. We'll go there next."
The girl's delicate face stiffened vindictively as she fell brooding for the hundredth time over Lady Tressady's enormities. Then suddenly the garden door opened, and Letty, looking up, saw that George was on the threshold, waving his hand to her. He had left her that morning almost for the first time since their marriage to go and see his principal agent and discuss the position of affairs.
The wife's adoration showed through her very failure through this strange conversion of all that was manly, solid, and effective in Maxwell, into a confused mass of facts and figures, pedantic, colourless, and cold! Edward Watton began to look desperately unhappy. "Too long," he said, whispering in Tressady's ear, "and too technical. They can't follow."
Gradually, however, the sense of her presence beside him, the memory of Tressady's speech, of the scene in the House of the night before, began to work in his veins with a pricking, exciting power.
All in a moment, to Tressady's astonishment, she recalled the conversation to the point where it had turned aside. "And you think you really think" her voice had a nervous appealing note "that even at this eleventh hour No, I don't understand! I can't understand! why, or how you should still think it possible to change things enough!"
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