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As they disappeared into the room beyond, which had been reserved for them, the crowd closed up behind them. Falloden heard a voice at his elbow. "How are you? I hear you're to be in the quadrille. You'll have the pretty lady we saw at Oxford for a colleague." He turned to see Mrs. Glendower, very much made-up and glittering with diamonds.
Mulholland lifted the small face, with her own large hand, and looked mockingly into the brown eyes: "Out with it, my dear! You are in love with Douglas Falloden!" Connie said nothing. Her little chin did not withdraw itself, nor did her eyes drop. But a film of tears rushed into them.
He would have served to keep them together, and give them opportunities of meeting, when they might have easily drifted entirely apart. He laughed to himself as he thought of Connie's impassioned cry "I shall never, never, marry him!" Such are the vows of women. She would marry him; and then what would he, Otto, matter to her or to Falloden any longer? He thought he would go back to Paris.
They came to a place where the track went suddenly into a wood, and a pheasant was startled by the horses, and flew right across Sir Arthur, almost in his face. The horse it was always said no one but Sir Arthur Falloden could ride it took fright, bolted, dashed in among the trees, threw Sir Arthur, and made off.
Falloden, he understood, had put in an appearance earlier in the afternoon; Herbert Pryce, and Bobbie Vernon of Magdalen, a Blue of the first eminence, skirmished round and round the newcomer, taking possession of her when they could. Mrs. Hooper, under the influence of so much social success, showed a red and flustered countenance, and her lace cap went awry.
A very short document had been substituted for it, making Douglas and a certain Marmaduke Falloden, his uncle and an eminent K.C., joint executors, and appointing Douglas and Lady Laura guardians of the younger children. Whatever property might remain "after the payment of my just debts" was to be divided in certain proportions between Douglas and his brother and sisters.
"Four Rembrandts," said Falloden, looking at his list, "two Titians, two Terburgs, a Vermeer of Delft, heaps of other Dutchmen four full-length Gainsboroughs, and three half-lengths two full-length Reynoldses, three smaller three Lawrences, a splendid Romney, three Hoppners, two Constables, etc. The foreign pictures were bought by my grandfather from one of the Orléans collections about 1830.
Just outside the Christ Church barge, Constance with Nora beside her, and escorted by Sorell and Lord Meyrick, lifted a pair of eyes to a tall fellow in immaculate flannels and a Harrow cap. She had been aware of his neighbourhood, and he of hers, long before it was possible to speak. Falloden introduced his mother. Then he resolutely took possession of Constance.
Dat I must have!" And he gazed in ecstasy at the opulent shoulders, the rounded forms, and gorgeous jewelled dress of an unrivalled Madame de Pompadour, which had belonged to her brother, the Marquis de Marigny. "You will have all or nothing, my good sir!" thought Falloden, and bided his time.
"I went up the moor for a walk after tea it was so gorgeous, the clouds and the view. I got drawn on a bit on the castle side. I wasn't really thinking where I was going. Then I saw the park below me, and the house. And immediately afterwards, I heard a groaning sound, and there was a man lying on the ground. It was Sir Arthur Falloden and he died while I was there."
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