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Updated: May 21, 2025
A manly, ringing voice, which sent a thrill to Winnifred's heart, cried "Mother!" and in another instant Lord Mordaunt Muddlenut, for he it was, had folded the Marchioness to his heart. Winnifred rose, her heart beating wildly. One glance was enough. The newcomer, Lord Mordaunt, was none other than the Unknown, the Unaccountable, to whose protection she had twice owed her life.
Then at last, one morning when Winnifred's temperature had fallen to ninety-eight point three, the Marchioness spoke. "Miss Clair," she said, in a voice which throbbed with emotion, "Winnifred, if I may so call you, Lord Muddlenut and I have formed a plan for your future. It is our dearest wish that you should marry our son." "Alas," cried Winnifred, while tears rose in her eyes, "it cannot be!"
"You shall yet be mine!" he hissed in Winnifred's ear, and, releasing his grasp, he rushed with a bound past the rescuer into the street. "Oh, sir," said Winnifred, clasping her hands and falling on her knees in gratitude.
He returned late at night, often, and found little tracts upon his bureau, upon the chair in which he usually laid his clothes when he retired yes, even upon his pillow. "Aunt Winnifred's piety leaves its tracts all over my room," he said, smilingly, to Lawrence Newt. But when the good lady openly attacked him, and said, "Arthur, how can you? What will people think? Why don't you go to church?"
Arthur replied, with entire coolness, "Aunt Winnifred, what's the use of going to church when Van Boozenberg goes, and is not in the least discomposed? I'm afraid of the morality of such a place!" Aunt Winnifred's eyes dilated with horror. She had no argument to throw at Arthur in return, and that reckless fellow always had to help her out.
With a profound bow, Lord Wynchgate took his leave. Lord Mordaunt and his bride were married forthwith in the parish church of Muddlenut Chase. With Winnifred's money they have drained the moat, rebuilt the Chase, and chased the bulls out of the park.
She heard his cautious step stealing up stairs, for the painter was careful to make no noise; and as she listened she drew pictures upon her fancy of the scenes in which her boy had been mingling. It was Aunt Winnifred's firm conviction that society that is, the great world of which she knew nothing languished for the smile and presence of her nephew, Arthur. That very evening her gossip, Mrs.
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