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Updated: June 14, 2025
When Magdalen saw Fay entirely absorbed in trying on a succession of new summer hats, sent for from London in preparation for Wentworth's return, she asked herself for the twentieth time whether Fay had entirely forgotten her previous attraction for Michael, or that there might be some awkwardness in meeting her faithful lover and servant again, especially as the future wife of his brother.
The following afternoon Fay was sitting in the little morning-room at Priesthope, trying to write a letter, a long, long letter. Wentworth's last note to her, just arrived by the second post, was open before her, telling her that he could not return for two days. And then the door opened gently and he was before her. She turned a white, miserable face towards the door.
Altogether, the forests of Australia may be said to be in a purely natural state, and thus do they offer to the eye of the inquiring traveller many objects less pleasing, it may be, but nevertheless more sublime and solemn, than those with which the woods of more cultivated countries commonly abound. See Wentworth's Australasia, vol. i. p. 3.
"They was the easiest boots the gentleman had, being troubled with tender feet; and he wasn't a-going to give them up because they was shabby," said Sarah. He sent down his shabby clothes to be brushed, and wore Mr Wentworth's linen, to the indignation of the household. But he was not a man to be concealed in a corner.
With all these circumstances, recollections and feelings, she could not hear that Captain Wentworth's sister was likely to live at Kellynch without a revival of former pain; and many a stroll, and many a sigh, were necessary to dispel the agitation of the idea.
The chase passed on, and Wentworth's arm slipped round her again. "Now we are safe," he said. "By Jove, dear, how I have schemed for this! It was really considerate of your worthy husband to absent himself." Again, gently but quite decidedly, she drew herself away. "I think Freda is right," she said. "This is rather a dirty place." He laughed. "A regular black hole!
A smile that was a plea for sympathy flickered in her eyes. Wickersham's mind had been busy. This explained the change in Louise Wentworth's manner of late ever since he had made the bold declaration of his intention to conquer her. Another idea suggested itself. Could the girl be jealous of his attentions to Mrs. Wentworth? He had had women play such a part; but none was like this girl.
His house the Baroness mentally pronounced a very good one; more articulately, she declared that it was enchanting. It was large and square and painted brown; it stood in a well-kept shrubbery, and was approached, from the gate, by a short drive. It was, moreover, a much more modern dwelling than Mr. Wentworth's, and was more redundantly upholstered and expensively ornamented.
Wentworth's address as I ran. And of the ensuing five minutes I retain nothing but chaotic memories: the bewildered cabman; the police bending over the gaunt form on my study floor; Gatton's voice shouting orders. Then, we had jumped into the cab and enjoining the man to drive like fury, were speeding off through the busy London streets.
That night, when the camp groaned and slept, or groaned and did not sleep, he went to Wentworth's unlighted cabin. "Listen to me, Wentworth," he said. "I've got a thousand dollars in dust right here in this sack. I'm a rich man in this country, and I can afford it. I think I'm getting touched. Put a raw potato in my hand and the dust is yours. Here, heft it."
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