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"My wife, Hastings," said John.
I shall never forget my first sight of Mary Cavendish. Her tall, slender form,
outlined against the bright light; the vivid sense of slumbering fire that
seemed to find expression only in those wonderful tawny eyes of hers,
remarkable eyes, different from any other woman's that I have ever known;
the intense power of stillness she possessed, which nevertheless conveyed
the impression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilised body--all
these things are burnt into my memory. I shall never forget them.
She greeted me with a few words of pleasant welcome in a low clear voice,
and I sank into a basket chair feeling distinctly glad that I had accepted
John's invitation. Mrs. Cavendish gave me some tea, and her few quiet
remarks heightened my first impression of her as a thoroughly fascinating
woman. An appreciative listener is always stimulating, and I described, in a
humorous manner, certain incidents of my Convalescent Home, in a way
which, I flatter myself, greatly amused my hostess. John, of course, good
fellow though he is, could hardly be called a brilliant conversationalist.
At that moment a well remembered voice floated through the open French
window near at hand:
"Then you'll write to the Princess after tea, Alfred? I'll write to Lady
Tadminster for the second day, myself. Or shall we wait until we hear from
the Princess? In case of a refusal, Lady Tadminster might open it the first
day, and Mrs. Crosbie the second. Then there's the Duchess--about the
school fete."
There was the murmur of a man's voice, and then Mrs. Inglethorp's rose in
reply:
"
Yes, certainly. After tea will do quite well. You are so thoughtful, Alfred
dear."
The French window swung open a little wider, and a handsome white-haired
old lady, with a somewhat masterful cast of features, stepped out of it on to
the lawn. A man followed her, a suggestion of deference in his manner.
Mrs. Inglethorp greeted me with effusion.
"
Why, if it isn't too delightful to see you again, Mr. Hastings, after all these
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