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Updated: June 15, 2025
Nevill Tyson as she left the room. She soon reappeared, enchantingly pretty again in her laces and furs. It was a glorious morning, the first thin white frost after a long thaw. The meet was in front of the Cross-Roads Inn, about a mile out of Drayton Parva. It was neutral ground, where Farmer Ashby could hold his own with Sir Peter any day, and speech was unfettered. Somebody remarked that Mrs.
"Baby thinks that his mamma would like to see him," said Swinny, in an insinuating manner. A hard melancholy voice answered, "I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him any more." All the same Mrs. Nevill Tyson turned and looked after him as he was carried through the doorway.
"I thought you'd like to know this. I'm sure he will be delighted to see you whenever you like to call. Yours sincerely, "Molly Tyson. "P.S. Thanks awfully for the lovely flowers. You can smell them all over the flat!" "Come here, you fool," he said gently. But Mrs. Nevill Tyson was stamping her envelope with great deliberation and care. She handed it to him at arm's length and darted away.
Nevill Tyson had no peers in Drayton Parva. She was tried by an invisible and incorruptible jury of ideas in Miss Batchelor's head. Opinion sways all things in Drayton Parva, and Miss Batchelor swayed opinion. As for Mr. Nevill Tyson, he had dropped into Leicestershire from heaven knows where, and was understood to be more or less on his trial.
If Tyson was more than usually sulky, that was the serious side of him coming out; if he was silent, well, everybody knows that the deepest feelings are seldom expressed in words; if he was atrociously irritable, it was no wonder, considering the strain he had undergone, poor fellow.
Henceforth, whatever he might think, he would not think of her to-morrow as he had thought yesterday; whatever he felt to-morrow, his feeling would never lose that purifying touch of tragic pity. Mrs. Nevill Tyson would never be the same woman that he had known before. And yet she was a fool, a fool; and he doubted if her sufferings would make her any wiser. Tyson looked at his watch.
He sued Tyson upon it in the Circuit Court of the United States in Maine. If his rights were as good as if he had paid value for it at the time he received it, he was entitled to recover. If not, his action failed; for the acceptance had been obtained by fraud. It was made in New York.
There was a time when Miss Batchelor had admired Tyson. He was not handsome; but his face had character, and she liked character. Now she hated him and his face and everything belonging to him, his wife included. But there was no denying that he was clever, cleverer than any man she had ever met in her life.
He rose reluctantly as Tyson came in, and stood, manifestly ill at ease, while Tyson, ignoring the interrogation of his air, took possession of a seat which was not offered to him. "Look here, Stanistreet," said he, "I can't stand this any longer. You and I can't afford to quarrel about a woman. It's not worth it." "That is precisely what your wife said.
Tyson smiled discreetly. "Oh! leave that to me leave that to me!" said Melrose with an answering good humour. "Stable and carriage expenses are the deuce. There never was a coachman yet that didn't rob his employer. Well, thank you; I'm glad to have had this talk with you, and now, I go to bed. Beastly cold, I must say, this climate of yours!"
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