Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her. "Never mind," replied the tapstress. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose.
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