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Updated: June 25, 2025
"If she is," Jennings winked humorously, "she's to be dressed up and taken down to the drawing-room to be shown off. I don't know whether it's Coombe's idea or not. He's there." Robin's eyes flew wide open. She forgot to keep them shut. She was to go downstairs! Who wanted her who? Andrews had quite gasped. "Here's a new break out!" she exclaimed. "I never heard such a thing in my life.
"Oh, no, of course not, but I was visiting in Canada when we knew each other. Mutual friends and and all that, you know." "Very romantic," said Mrs. MacTavish. Her tone was pleasantly cordial, yet there was a something, a tinge her quick glance took in Mrs. Coombe's pretty dress and flowered hat, and the beginning of a smile moved her thin lips. She said nothing.
You'll want to ask questions the moment you see him. I did. Everyone does. His name is Donal Muir. He's Lord Coombe's heir. He'll be the Head of the House of Coombe some day. Here he comes," quite excitedly, "Look!" It was one of the tricks of Chance or Fate or whatever you will.
"It is part of his monomania that he can persuade himself that they are little more." Coombe's eye-glasses had been slowly swaying from the ribbon in his fingers. He let them continue to sway a moment and then closed them with a snap. "He is a great fool," he said. "But we, oh, my friend and by 'we' I mean the rest of the Map of Europe we are much greater fools.
"Oh, it doesn't belong to any one. It isn't Esther's because it's too old and it begins 'Dearest wife' and it isn't Mary's because it isn't Doctor Coombe's writing; so you see I thought it might not hurt anybody if I pretended it was mine." "No," gently, "I do not see why it would." "I never had a love letter of my own. Or if I did I cannot find it.
"Some one who is asking about Mrs. Gareth-Lawless. He doesn't seem satisfied with what I tell him. I took the liberty of saying your lordship was here and perhaps you'd see him." "Bring him upstairs." It was in fact a man who knew Lord Coombe well enough to be aware that he need make no delay. "It was one of the worst, my lord," he said in answer to Coombe's first question.
Coombe's habit to rise early or to pick flowers, but before she had time to comment, Mary herself entered the kitchen with an armful of roses. "Hurry with your breakfast, Jane," she said, "I want you to take these over to the doctor's office. I wonder you have not sent some to the poor man before this, Esther. Mrs. Sykes' roses never amount to anything. Shall I pour the coffee?
Lord Coombe has just come in and is talking it over with grandmamma." As they neared the entrance to the ballroom she paused with a new kind of impish smile. "The very best looking boy in all England," she said, "is dancing with Sara Studleigh. He dropped in by chance to call and grandmamma made him stay. His name is Donal Muir. He is Lord Coombe's heir. Here he comes. Look!"
Once she called up to the blowing curtains of Mrs. Coombe's window. "Mother, won't you come and help me with the flowers?" But no hand pushed the curtain aside, nor did she receive any answer. Perhaps Mary was really asleep. In that case she was sure to be amiable at supper time.
Says he suspects you're an old friend of Doc. Coombe's folks went to college with the doctor, mebby. Says that likely Alviry will have you next time she gets a stroke." "Tempting as the prospect is, boy, I fear ..." "Oh, dang it! There's the bell again."
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