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Updated: June 28, 2025
The horror of that unspeakable trial had wholly unnerved him. The great, strong man cried and sobbed like a baby. Lady Gildersleeve and Gwendoline were with him all through. He seldom spoke. When he did, it was generally to murmur those fixed words of exculpation, in a tremulous undertone, "It was my hands that did it these great, clumsy hands of mine not I not I. I never, never meant it.
The great Q.C., a big, overbearing man, with a pair of huge burly hands that somehow seemed to form his chief feature, was a little bit blustering in his talk, as usual; the more so because he had just learned incidentally that something had gone wrong between his daughter Gwendoline and Granville Kelmscott.
It was bootless. His brain, trained by long years of high living and plain thinking, had become too subtle, too refined an instrument for arithmetic... At this moment the door opened and Edwin Einstein stood before the earl. Gwendoline never forgot what happened.
Neither Lady Gwendoline nor any one else shall wear it, and, married or single, I shall keep it to my dying day if I choose. Charley what do you mean, sir! How dare you? Let me go!" For he had risen suddenly and caught her in his arms, looking steadily down into her dark eyes, with a gaze she would not meet. Whilst he held her, whilst he looked at her, he was her master, and he knew it.
"Some secret about somebody not being properly married!" she repeated slowly, with wild terror in her eyes. "Yes, mother," Gwendoline gasped out, with an effort once more. "It was about somebody not being really the proper heir; he made me promise I wouldn't tell; but I don't know how to keep it. He was immensely full of it; it was an awful secret; and he said he would ruin us ruin us ruthlessly.
For though that little episode of private wooing had run its course nominally without the knowledge or consent of either family, Mr. Gilbert Gildersleeve, at least, had none the less been aware for many weeks past of the frequent meetings between Gwendoline and Granville in the dell just beyond the disputed boundary line. And as Mr.
Things generally were converging towards a crisis in their affairs. Colonel Kelmscott's wrong-doing was bearing first-fruit abundantly. For as soon as Granville Kelmscott received that strangely-worded note from Gwendoline Gildersleeve, he proceeded, as was natural, straight down, in his doubt, to his father's library.
To be sure, he knew Gwendoline loved him for himself; but how could he marry her if he didn't even know he had anything of his own in the world to marry upon? The park and fallow deer had been a part of himself; without them, he felt he was hardly even a Kelmscott.
I met Gwendoline, if you want to know, at the Bertrams', in Berkeley Square, and she and I got on so well together that we've well, we've met from time to time in the Park, since our return from town, and we think by this time we may consider ourselves informally engaged to one another." Colonel Kelmscott gazed at his son in a perfect access of indignant amazement. Gilbert Gildersleeve's daughter!
By the time I have to give up this house I shall just have got a little country school. 'But, said her mother, aghast, 'why not write more poems and sell 'em? 'Why not be a governess as you were? said her father. 'Why not go on with your tales at Mayfair Hall? said Gwendoline. 'I'll answer as well as I can.
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