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Locke, William John, 1863-1930

"Simon the Jester"


"I hope----" She paused. There was another ripple. "No. I had better not
say it. It's none of my business, after all."
"I don't think it is, my dear," said I.
Rogers bringing in the cutlets ended the snippet of talk.
It was not the cheeriest of dinners. I took advantage of the next
interval of quiet to inquire after Dale. I learned that the poor boy had
almost collapsed after the election and was now yachting with young Lord
Essendale somewhere about the Hebrides. Agatha had not seen him, but
Lady Kynnersley had called on her one day in a distracted frame of mind,
bitterly reproaching me for the unhappiness of her son. I should never
have suspected that such fierce maternal love could burn beneath Lady
Kynnersley's granite exterior. She accused me of treachery towards Dale
and, most illogically, of dishonourable conduct towards herself.
"She said things about you," said Agatha, "for which, even if they
were true, I couldn't forgive her. So that's an end of that friendship.
Indeed, it has been very difficult, Simon," she continued, "to keep
up with our common friends.


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