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Updated: June 7, 2025
I could not do otherwise than agree with the direct-spoken old lady who had at once correlated the adventure in Carlisle with the plunge into the Wellingsford Canal. And so did Sir Anthony. They were very brave, however, the little man and Edith, in their dinner-talk with Betty. But I saw that the past fortnight had aged them both by a year or more.
Tufton looked upon herself as a very important person, a sergeant's wife, and the confidential intimate of a leading sister at the Wellingsford Hospital. In fact, Marigold mentioned her notorious vanity. "What does it matter," cried Betty, when I put this view before her, "how swelled her head may be, so long as it isn't swollen with drink?" And I could find no adequate reply.
When will he be able to be moved? When do you think he'll come back to Wellingsford?" At this series of questions I pricked a curious ear. "Am I speaking to the man or the Mayor?" "The Mayor," said he. "I wish to goodness I could get you inside, so that you and I and Winterbotham could talk things over." Winterbotham was the Town Clerk.
If my hypothesis were correct he had evidently changed his mind as to the desirability of getting rid, in so summary a fashion, of what he may have considered to be an impertinent and malicious little factor in Wellingsford gossip. At any rate, if he was playing a part, he played it very well. It was not in the power of man to be more cordial and gracious.
I remember the scandal when the troops first came in August, 1914, to Wellingsford a scandal put a summary end to, after a fortnight's grinning amazement at our country morals, by the troops themselves. Tufton had married into an undesirable community. "We're wasting time," said Betty. So Marigold put me into the back of the car and mounted into the front seat by Betty, and we started.
Of all the young women of Wellingsford she was my particular favourite. She was so tall and straight, with a certain Rosalind boyishness about her that made for charm. I am not yet, thank goodness, one of the fossils who hold up horror-stricken hands at the independent ways of the modern young woman.
"I ought to remind you of another point." said Gedge. "Was Major Boyce ever seen in Wellingsford after that night? No. He went off by the first train the next morning. Went abroad and stayed there till the outbreak of war." "I happen to know he had made arrangements to start for Norway that morning," said Sir Anthony. "He had called here a day or two before to say good-bye."
He set his invitations to dinner in a separate category from those of the rag-tag and bobtail of Wellingsford society. So for the sake of principle he continued to damn the fellow. On the other hand, for the sake of principle, reparation for injustice, I continued to like the fellow and found pleasure in his company.
Gedge was a smug, socialistic, pacifist builder who did not hold with war and with this one least of all, which he maintained was being waged for the exclusive benefit of the capitalist classes. In the eyes of the stalwarts of Wellingsford, he was a horrible fellow, capable of any stratagem or treason. Perkins flushed.
Once, I say, a Sleepy Hollow, but now alive with the tramp of soldiers and the rumble of artillery and transport; for Wellingsford is the centre of a district occupied by a division, which means twenty thousand men of all arms, and the streets and roads swarm with men in khaki, and troops are billeted in all the houses. The War has changed many aspects, but not my old friendships.
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