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"It did duty very well for a party," said Mrs. Westgate. "All the women were decolletes, and many of the figures looked as if they could speak if they tried." "Upon my word," Lord Lambeth rejoined, "you see people at London parties that look as if they couldn't speak if they tried." "Do you think Mr. Woodley could find us Mr. Beaumont?" asked Mrs. Westgate.
"Yes, you are too historical," said Lord Lambeth, laughing, but thankful for a formula. "Upon my honor, you are too historical!" He went with the ladies a couple of days later to Hampton Court, Willie Woodley being also of the party.
In the meantime, the officer and his men, all but the sentinel, had left the room to search for the fugitive, leaving Lady Woodley sitting exhausted and terrified in her chair, the little ones clinging around her, Walter standing opposite, with his hands bound; Rose stood by him, her arm round his neck, proud of his firmness, but in dreadful terror for him, and in such suspense for Edmund, that her whole being seemed absorbed in agonised prayer.
Still, the joy of being, even in so remote a way, under her father's care, was extreme for her, though it was tempered with jealousy of Rushbrook a feeling which even her noble heart could not completely quell jealousy which was shared on her account by both Miss Woodley and Mr. Sandford, and frequently made them unjust to Harry, whom they regarded as an interloper.
"I always feel so sorry for the people that come up to town and go to live in those places," continued the young man. "They eat nothing but filth." "Oh, I say!" cried Willie Woodley. "Well, how do you like London, Miss Alden?" Lord Lambeth asked, unperturbed by this ejaculation. "I think it's grand," said Bessie Alden. "My sister likes it, in spite of the 'filth'!" Mrs. Westgate exclaimed.
It was quite evident that he was making some request which the sheriff would not grant, for he shook his head in a very emphatic manner, and those nearest heard the official answer: "No, no, the judgment of the court, the judgment of the court." Dame Woodley, turning to a matron near, whispered: "Sarah Drummond, there is John Stevens, the husband of the woman who had Ann Linkon adjudged.
It was no other than Lord Frederick Lawnly to whom Lady Elmwood sacrificed her own and her husband's future peace; she did not, however, elope with her paramour, but escaped to shelter herself in the most dreary retreat, where she partook of no comfort but the still unremitting friendship of Miss Woodley. Even her child she left behind, that she might be under her father's protection.
"Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he asked at last. "He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry." "He would not pay you a surprise visit?" "Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!" "Have you had any other admirers?" "Several before I knew Cyril." "And since?" "There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him an admirer." "No one else?"
One of the jurors was whispered to come out of the box; then the clerk of the court exclaimed, "My lord, there are only eleven men on the jury;" and by the aid of this venerable, if clumsy expedient, the cause of Woodley versus Thorndyke was de facto adjourned to a future day. I had not long returned to the hotel, when I was waited upon by Mr.
He had been engaged to Miss Edith Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off by mutual consent some months before, and there was no sign that it had left any very profound feeling behind it. Yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocrat that death came, in most strange and unexpected form, between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30, 1894.
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