The Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Pottage, by Mary Cholmondeley
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Red Pottage
Author: Mary Cholmondeley
Release Date: February 2, 2005 [EBook #14885]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED POTTAGE ***
Produced by Rick Niles, Charlie Kirschner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
Red Pottage
By
Mary Cholmondeley
AUTHOR OF
"THE DANVERS JEWELS"
"After the Red Pottage comes the exceeding bitter cry"
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1900
TO
VICTORIA
Good things have not kept aloof,
* * * * *
I have not lack'd thy mild reproof,
Nor golden largesse of thy praise.
RED POTTAGE
CHAPTER I
In tragic life, God wot,
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:
We are betray'd by what is false within.
--GEORGE MEREDITH.
"I can't get out," said Sterne's starling, looking through the bars of
his cage.
"I will get out," said Hugh Scarlett to himself, seeing no bars, but
half conscious of a cage. "I will get out," he repeated, as his hansom
took him swiftly from the house in Portman Square, where he had been
dining, towards that other house in Carlton House Terrace, whither his
thoughts had travelled on before him, out-distancing the
_trip-clip-clop, trip-clip-clop_ of the horse.
It was a hot night in June. Hugh had thrown back his overcoat, and the
throng of passers-by in the street could see, if they cared to see, "the
glass of fashion" in the shape of white waistcoat and shirt front,
surmounted by the handsome, irritated face of their owner, leaning back
with his hat tilted over his eyes.
_Trip-clip-clop_ went the horse.
A great deal of thinking may be compressed into a quarter of an hour,
especially if it has been long eluded.
"I will get out," he said again to himself with an impatient movement.
It was beginning to weary him, this commonplace intrigue which had been
so new and alluring a year ago. He did not own it to himself, but he
was tired of it. Perhaps the
|