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Updated: June 15, 2025
It was so in Lady Sellingworth's case, but for a long time the former woman dominated the latter, whose empire was to come later with white hair and a ravaged face. At the age of thirty-five, after some years of brilliant and even of despotic widowhood, she married again Lord Sellingworth.
Braybrooke that!" said Craven. "And I shall be eternally grateful to him." His eyes met Lady Sellingworth's, and he immediately added, turning to Miss Van Tuyn: "I have to thank him for two delightful new friends if I may use that word." "Mr. Braybrooke is a great benefactor," said Miss Van Tuyn. "I wonder how this play is going to end."
She fully understood the reason for their visit to Geneva. Miladi had fallen in love. Lady Sellingworth's excitement increased as she drove towards Coombe. It was complicated by a feeling of shyness. To herself she said that she was like an old debutante.
Henry, please tell Lady Sellingworth's chauffeur that he will be sent for when he is wanted. Oh, Anne, welcome the wandering sheep back to the social fold!" She threaded her way slowly through the crowd, talking calmly to one and another, seeing everything, understanding everything, tremendously at home in the midst of complications.
"This is a most unorthodox hour. But I knew you were often alone in the evening, and I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind seeing me for a few minutes." She took Lady Sellingworth's hand and started. For the hand was cold. Then she looked round and saw that the footman had left the room. The big door was shut. They were alone together. "Of course you know why I've come, Adela," she said.
And through her there floated strange echoes of voices which had haunted Lady Sellingworth's youth, voices which had died away long ago in Berkeley Square, but which are captured by succeeding generations of women, and which persist through the ages, finding ever new dwellings. The night was growing late, but the Georgians bitterly complained of the absurdity of London having a closing time.
With her beautiful corn-coloured hair uncovered she looked, he thought, more lovely than when he had seen her at Lady Sellingworth's. She noted that thought at once, caught it on the wing through his mind, as it were, and caged it comfortably in hers. "I have seen the 'old guard," she said, after she had let him hold and press her hand for two or three seconds.
He was quite willing to eat Lady Sellingworth's excellent dinners, to ride her spirited horses, to sit in her opera box and look at pretty women while others listened to music, but it never occurred to him that it would be the act of a wise man to try to put her fortune into his own pocket at the price of marrying her.
And Lady Sellingworth looked at him and knew that it could not. About such a matter she had no illusions. And yet for years she had lived a life cloudy with illusions. What had led her out from those clouds? Braybrooke had hinted to Craven that possibly Seymour Portman knew the secret of Lady Sellingworth's abrupt desertion of the "old guard" and plunge into old age. But even he did not know it.
Ever since Lady Sellingworth's abrupt departure from England he had persistently sought her out, had shown a sort of almost obstinate desire to be in her company. Remembering what had happened when Lady Sellingworth was still in Berkeley Square, Miss Van Tuyn had been on her guard. Craven had hurt her vanity once. She did not quite understand him. She suspected him of peculiarity.
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