Chapter XI
THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON
Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. It was
a simple wish. “It is about your sister, Lady
Ferringhall. He really deserves a
better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. And all to find that picture of Mary Remenham. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness,
Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose;
But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather,
She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. Your aunt and I have
discussed all this matter. And through all these defences and into Old Palace Yard, into the
very vitals of the defenders’ position, lumbered the unsuspected vans. Such freedoms from such
people were not to be endured. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that
men will keep you, more or less. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and
actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope
everything would turn out for the best. But most of all, I wanted to love. ‘I want a word with you, my lad.
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