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Updated: May 25, 2025
Lorella denied that it was he. "If you kill him," she said to Warham, "you kill an innocent man." Warham was so exasperated by her obstinacy that he was at first for taking her at her offer and letting her go away. But Fanny would not hear of it, and he acquiesced. Now "This child must be sent away off somewhere, and never be heard of again," he said to himself.
Susan shrank and shivered, but answered steadfastly, "That's between him and me, Uncle." Warham gave a snort of fury, turned to the elder Wright. "You see, Wright," cried he. "It's as my wife and I told you. Your boy's lying. We'll send the landlady out for a preacher and marry them." "Hold on, George," objected Wright soothingly. "I agreed to that only if there'd been something wrong.
I hate myself for having lived in England so long without knowing this beautiful corner of the land. I am staying with my old chief, Colonel Pryke, at Warham Court, and I'm only here for a few days." "But you are coming to my dinner-party?" said Mrs. Tempest. "That is a pleasure I cannot deny myself." "And you will come and see our church and schools?" said Mrs. Scobel.
"Would they have him murder them all in cold blood?" And for a while every man, knowing that it must come to that, and yet not daring to say it; till Sir Warham St. Leger, the marshal of Munster, spoke out stoutly: "Foreigners had been scoffing them too long and too truly with waging these Irish wars as if they meant to keep them alive, rather than end them.
They went to the Central Station. The O. and M. express which connected with the train on the branch line to Sutherland would not leave until a quarter past two. It was only a few minutes past one. Warham led the way into the station restaurant; with a curt nod he indicated a seat at one of the small tables, and dropped into the opposite seat.
That early training of hers from Aunt Fanny Warham had made it forever impossible for her in any circumstances to become the typical luxuriously sheltered woman, whether legally or illegally kept the lie-abed woman, the woman who dresses only to go out and show off, the woman who wastes her life in petty, piffling trifles without purpose, without order or system, without morals or personal self-respect.
Warham had latterly grown jealous not without reason of her husband's partiality for Susan. Ruth sighed. "Oh, dear!" cried she. "I don't know what to do. How's she ever going to get married!" "If she'd only been a boy!" said Mrs. Warham, on her knees, taking the unevenness out of the front of the skirt. "A girl has to suffer for her mother's sins." Ruth made no reply.
"What say you to that, Warham?" demanded the senior exultingly. "A Diana, in truth; but, uncle, we find her not among the rest. SHE is none of your cottagers. SHE is of another world and element. She is no Charlemonter." And, as he spoke, the younger traveller looked back with straining eyes to catch another glanco of the vanished object, but in vain.
The mother and the daughter avoided each other's eyes. Both felt mean and small, guilty toward Susan; but neither was for that reason disposed to draw back. As Mrs. Warham was trying the new dress on her daughter, she said: "Anyhow, Sam'd be wasting time on Susan. He'd hang round her for no good. She'd simply get talked about.
You'll have the whole town talking about how I'm throwing myself at Sam's head and that I'm jealous of Susan." Mrs. Warham said, "Never mind" into the telephone sender and hung up the receiver. She was frightened, but not convinced. Hers was a slow, old-fashioned mind, and to it the scheme it had worked out seemed a model of skillful duplicity.
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