Tuesday September 8th, 1868
Before starting for Doncaster races, May called the fairest of the ladies together: ‘My dears, some more men we must have. Each of you employ yourselves in hunting up someone for the good of the community. Only one condition I make: if it is a married man, he must leave his wife elsewhere.’
Mr Creyke was at my especial service that day. We had been discussing masculine beauty, and I singled out a man, over six foot with large dark eyes, so soft and blue that they seemed as if they ought to belong to a woman.
‘There’s a face that pleases me,’ I said, indicating him with a movement of my parasol. ‘Gracious, I know him,’ was the answer. ‘That’s George Morland Hutton. He’s very goodlooking, but I won’t introduce him to you for he wouldn’t amuse you: he’s a man’s man, never even looks at a woman.’
I took no notice of the latter part of Mr Creyke’s information, and left him to go and demolish the wing
of a chicken. May raised my spirits by repeating the complimentary remarks she, Edith
and I were exciting.
Mr Creyke came up and exclaimed ‘By Jove, Miss Miles, you’ve created an impression on
my unimpressionable friend that I never knew any other woman to get. He’s trying to be introduced to you.’
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