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Hope, Anthony, 1863-1933

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Tell me about Dick Benyon. He's to have your seat, isn't he?"
"Yes, I'm gathered to my fathers, and Dick reigns in my stead."
"You're sorry?" she asked, forgetting Dick and coming back again to the
man before her.
"Yes; but I accept the inevitable and contrive to be quite cheerful about
it."
"We don't do either of those things. Hark, I hear my husband's step."
Quisante ran quickly up the stairs and burst into the room. His face was
alight with animation, and before greeting Marchmont he cried, "I've
carried it, I've brought them round. We attack all along the line, and I
open the ball at Henstead next week! They'll be out in six months, and I
shall----" Suddenly he paused. "They'll be out in six months," he said
again.
Marchmont rose and shook hands, "It doesn't matter to me now if they
are," he said, laughing. "Blair's troubles and mine are both over now."
"I know," nodded Quisante. "Well, I suppose you know best. But hasn't May
been trying to convert you?"
"No, I haven't tried to convert him," she said. "I'm not going to try to
convert people any more.


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