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Red Pottage

Mary Cholmondeley
Contents (120)
  1. RED POTTAGE
  2. * * *
  3. MARY CHOLMONDELEY
  4. *
  5. Contents
  6. *
  7. *
  8. Chapter I
  9. *
  10. Chapter II
  11. *
  12. Chapter III
  13. *
  14. Chapter IV
  15. *
  16. Chapter V
  17. *
  18. Chapter VI
  19. *
  20. Chapter VII
  21. *
  22. Chapter VIII
  23. *
  24. Chapter IX
  25. *
  26. Chapter X
  27. *
  28. Chapter XI
  29. *
  30. Chapter XII
  31. *
  32. Chapter XIII
  33. *
  34. Chapter XIV
  35. *
  36. Chapter XV
  37. *
  38. Chapter XVI
  39. *
  40. Chapter XVII
  41. *
  42. Chapter XVIII
  43. *
  44. Chapter XIX
  45. *
  46. Chapter XX
  47. *
  48. Chapter XXI
  49. *
  50. Chapter XXII
  51. *
  52. Chapter XXIII
  53. *
  54. Chapter XXIV
  55. *
  56. Chapter XXV
  57. *
  58. Chapter XXVI
  59. *
  60. Chapter XXVII
  61. *
  62. Chapter XXVIII
  63. *
  64. Chapter XXIX
  65. *
  66. Chapter XXX
  67. *
  68. Chapter XXXI
  69. *
  70. Chapter XXXII
  71. *
  72. Chapter XXXIII
  73. *
  74. Chapter XXXIV
  75. *
  76. Chapter XXXV
  77. *
  78. Chapter XXXVI
  79. *
  80. Chapter XXXVII
  81. *
  82. Chapter XXXVIII
  83. *
  84. Chapter XXXIX
  85. *
  86. Chapter XL
  87. *
  88. Chapter XLI
  89. *
  90. Chapter XLII
  91. *
  92. Chapter XLIII
  93. *
  94. Chapter XLIV
  95. *
  96. Chapter XLV
  97. *
  98. Chapter XLVI
  99. *
  100. Chapter XLVII
  101. *
  102. Chapter XLVIII
  103. *
  104. Chapter XLIX
  105. *
  106. Chapter L
  107. *
  108. Chapter LI
  109. *
  110. Chapter LII
  111. *
  112. Chapter LIII
  113. *
  114. Conclusion
  115. *
  116. Postscript
  117. *
  118. * * *
  119. Endnotes
  120. *
cover

RED POTTAGE

* * *

MARY CHOLMONDELEY

Duke Classics

*

Red Pottage
First published in 1899
ISBN 978-1-62012-560-1
Duke Classics
© 2012 Duke Classics and its licensors. All rights reserved.

While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in this edition, Duke Classics does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. Duke Classics does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book.

Contents

*

Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Chapter XLI
Chapter XLII
Chapter XLIII
Chapter XLIV
Chapter XLV
Chapter XLVI
Chapter XLVII
Chapter XLVIII
Chapter XLIX
Chapter L
Chapter LI
Chapter LII
Chapter LIII
Conclusion
Postscript
Endnotes

*

To

VICTORIA

Good things have not kept aloof,

I have not lack'd thy mild reproof,
Nor golden largesse of thy praise.

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 reason why good resolutions have earned for themselves such an evil repute as paving-stones is because they are often the result, not of repentance, but of the restlessness that dogs an evaporating pleasure. This liaison had been alternately his pride and his shame for many months. But now it was becoming something more—which it had been all the time, only he had not noticed it till lately—a fetter, a clog, something irksome, to be cast off and pushed out of sight. Decidedly the moment for the good resolution had arrived.