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Updated: June 16, 2025
We of Lichfield have always said that he and Jack Charteris were the most dangerous men that even Lichfield has ever produced " "Why, do people really find Mr. Charteris particularly attractive?" Patricia demanded, so quickly and so innocently that Mrs. Pendomer could not deny herself the glance of a charlatan who applauds his fellow's legerdemain. And Patricia colored.
"She was looking through an old escritoire," he explained; "Jack Charteris had suggested that some of my father's letters during the War, you know . might be of value " He paused, for Mrs. Pendomer appeared on the verge of a question. But she only said, "So it was Mr. Charteris who suggested Patricia's searching the desk. Ah, yes! And then ?"
Men age so slowly; the men a girl first knows are young long after she has reached middle-age yes, they go on dancing cotillions and talking nonsense in the garden, long after she has taken to common-sense shoes. And the man is still young and he cares for some other woman, who is young and has all that she has lost and it seems so unfair!" said Mrs. Pendomer. Patricia regarded her for a moment.
For Patricia had decided that she was very ill indeed, and was sobbing softly in bed. Very calmly, Mrs. Pendomer opened a window, letting in a flood of fresh air and sunshine; very calmly, she drew a chair a substantial arm-chair to the bedside, and, very calmly, she began: "My dear, Rudolph has told me of this ridiculous affair, and oh, you equally ridiculous girl!"
And I can't quite imagine your carriage waiting at the doors of 'that Mrs. Pendomer." "Oh," Anne fleetingly thought, "he would have understood." But aloud she only said: "And do you think I hate her any longer? Yes, it is true I hated her until to-day, and now I'm just sincerely sorry for her.
Pity her, my dear!" pleaded Clarice Pendomer, and with a note of earnestness in her voice. "Such a woman," said Patricia, with distinctness, "deserves no pity." "Well," Mrs. Pendomer conceded, drily, "she doesn't get it.
And when she found, of all people, Rudolph Musgrave standing by her husband's grave, as in a sort of puzzled and yet reverent meditation, she was, and somehow as half-guiltily, assuring herself there was no possible reason for the repugnance nay, the rage, which a mere glimpse of trudging, painted and flamboyant Clarice Pendomer had kindled.
"You get more fun and interest out of it, I don't deny, but the bill, my dear, is unconscionable." "So! you confess it!" "My dear, and who am I to stand aside like a coward and see you make a mountain of this boy-and-girl affair an affair which Rudolph and I had practically forgotten oh, years ago! until to-day? Why why, you can't be jealous of me!" Mrs. Pendomer concluded, half-mockingly.
Mrs. Pendomer's foot tapped the floor whilst he spoke. When he had made an ending, she inclined her head toward him. "Thank you!" said Mrs. Pendomer. Colonel Musgrave bit his lip; and he flushed. "That," said he, hastily, "was different." But the difference, whatever may have been its nature, was seemingly a matter of unimportance to Mrs. Pendomer, who was in meditation.
Pendomer lifted the packet of letters lying on the bed, and cleared her throat. "H'm!" said she; "so this is what caused all the trouble? You don't mind?" And, considering silence as equivalent to acquiescence, she drew out a letter at hazard, and read aloud: "'Just a line, woman of all the world, to tell you ... but what have I to tell you, after all?
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