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Updated: June 23, 2025
He was still shaken when he climbed to Mavis's room and was looking out of her window, and that turned his thoughts to her and to Gray in the hills. What was the trouble that Steve had already heard about Mavis and Gray, and what the trouble at which Steve had hinted for him?
"Madame the Marquise" pouted and fretted, but without effect; when her "husband" presently put his mouth distressingly near Mavis's ear, "Madame's" feelings got the better of her; she put her foot, with some violence, upon the Marquis's most sensitive corn, at which it was as much as Mavis could do to stop herself from laughing.
His love decorated the one-time sparrow that she was with feathers of gorgeous hue. Days succeeded each other within the four walls of Mrs Gowler's nursing home much as anywhere else, although in each twenty-four hours there usually occurred what were to Mavis's sensitive eyes and ears unedifying sights, agonised cries of women in torment.
This last told Mavis that things were in a bad way at the farm; in consequence, her husband was thinking of sub-letting his house, in order to migrate to Melkbridge, where he might earn a living by teaching music. It closed with repeated wishes for Mavis's welfare.
What's a fellow to do?" "I wouldn't worry your head about it yet. There'll be plenty of time to think things over while you're at College," counselled Mavis. "Enjoy your holidays at any rate." "No mistake about that. I'm having the luck of my life!" It was only to Mavis's sympathetic ear that Bevis poured out these confidences. With Merle he was on different terms.
If you don't want to come, it's your duty to sacrifice yourself for the boy's health." This decided Mavis. Less than an hour later, they were driving in the cool of Surrey lanes, where the sweet air and the novelty of the motion brought colour to Mavis's cheeks. They lunched at a wayside inn, to sit, when the simple meal was over, in the garden where the air was musical with bees.
Mrs Devitt and Miss Spraggs were silent when they learned of Mavis's good fortune; they were torn between enhanced respect for Harold's wife and concern for Victoria, who had married a penniless man. Mavis could not gauge the effect of the news on Victoria, as she had gone back to London after Major Perigal's funeral, her husband remaining at Melkbridge for the reading of the will.
The soldier on her left talked incessantly, but, to Mavis's surprise, he made no mention of his campaigns; he spoke of nothing else but rose culture, his persistent ill-luck at flower shows, the unfairness of the judging. The meal was long and, even to Mavis, to whom a dinner party was in the nature of an experience, tedious.
"My name's Hamilton; it's really West-Hamilton, but I'm known as Mrs Hamilton. How old are you?" "Eighteen. I'm nineteen in three months." "Tell me more of yourself." Mavis briefly told her story; as she finished, the car drew up at a post-office. Mrs Hamilton scanned Mavis's face closely before getting out. "I shan't be a moment; it's only to someone who's coming to dinner."
She confided in Miss Meakin, who was now looking better and plumper, since nearly every evening she had taken to supping with her "boy's" mother, who owned a stationery business in the Holloway Road. "I know, it's dreadful. I used to be like that before I met Sylvester," Miss Meakin answered to Mavis's complaint. "But what am I to do?" asked Mavis. "Have you ever tried brisket?" "What's that?"
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