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Updated: June 28, 2025
She watched her mother sail about it and about in ever narrowing circles, heard herself commended for her promptitude in leaving Wanless, answered enquiries as to Ingram's behaviour under what Mrs. Percival otiosely called "his bereavement," echoed speculations at to his whereabouts played, in short, vacantly an empty part, and kept her mother upon tenterhooks. She gained civil entreaty this way.
She patronised nobody at Wanless, yet, with a steady eye for distances, kept a perfect length, varying with each oncomer. With Mr. Menzies, lord of the gardens, so far on she came; with Frodsham, master of horse and hound, so far; with the engineer so far; with Minnie nearer; nearest of all with Mrs.
She was my dearest friend, and is so still, I hope." The solemnity of his intended message clouded Mr. Chevenix's candid brow. "She's still at Wanless, you know." Senhouse set a watch upon himself. "No doubt she is," he said. "She's well?" The other probed him. "She's never made it up with her people. I think she feels it nowadays." Senhouse asked sharply, "Where's Ingram?"
The Oxford youths, Lord Wanless, the sons of two or three neighbouring squires, they were all presently gathered about her, as thick as bees on honeycomb, recognizing in her instantly one of those beings endowed from their cradle with a double portion of sex-magic, who leave such a wild track behind them in the world. By her chair stood poor Stephen Barron, absorbed in her every look and tone.
There stands the house of Wanless, stone-built in the days of Charles the Second a gleaming, grey front, covered to the first-floor windows with a magnolia of unknown age. The main entrance faces north, from which point the true shape of the place is revealed as a long body with wings, an E-shaped house. Above those again heather-clad slopes climb to piled rocks and a ragged sky-line.
He don't like commentators on his text never did. So he's making Wanless too hot to hold me." Sanchia, with rueful eyes, feared that this was her fault. "I'm very sorry," she said. "On all accounts I'm very sorry. I shall miss you. It was nice to see you again."
But the storm burst over Wanless, at half-past four. Minnie came into her room, breathless, Mrs. Benson stertorous in her traces. Minnie wailed, "Oh, Miss, oh, Miss Sanchia, oh, dear Miss Percival, what's going to become of us? Struan's beaten the Master, and the Sergeant's here!" "Apes and tigers" Mrs. Benson tolled like a bell. "Apes and tigers.
He was never alone, it appeared, for she was with him constantly, a vivifying principle. He had ensphered her in light; she was unassailable his fly in amber. Ingram, Chevenix, all Wanless, might have daily converse with her, and one might grudge her her self-sufficiency, and another see her a pretty girl in a mess.
Menzies say to him next?" but if she was interested it was not in that matter. Mrs. Benson brandished her voice. "Ha, you may well ask me. 'No, my man, he says, 'but 'tis you that must go mine while I'm head-gardener at Wanless, he says. That's what Mr. Menzies told him, the elderly man that he is and now look at this.
"No," Sanchia answered as if thinking it out "no, I shouldn't say that. I should say, a difference of opinion." "My dear," said Philippa and the phrase with her was one of reproof "on essentials there can have been none. He will wait a year, of course. Under the circumstances, a full year. But " Sanchia had replied, "I don't know what he means to do. I have left Wanless."
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