enough.
The
company
being
rather
silent
,
Esther
turns
her
eyes
round
the
room
,
and
scans
the
pictures
.
Two
or
three
Gerards
,
by
Sir
Thomas
Lawrence
,
in
very
full
dress
;
a
large
copper-coloured
woman
by
Rubens
,
in
no
dress
at
all
;
"
Susanna
and
the
Elders
;
"
"
Jupiter
and
Leda
"
(
twice
life-size
)
;
a
"
Venus
Sleeping
,
surprised
by
Satyrs
"
(
a
great
gem
)
;
and
many
other
like
subjects
,
such
as
one
mostly
meets
with
in
the
dining-rooms
of
English
nobles
and
gentles
—
subjects
pleasant
and
profitable
,
to
employ
the
eyes
and
minds
of
their
daughters
while
engaged
in
eating
their
dinners
.
Esther
is
staring
hard
at
Susanna
's
fat
,
coy
face
,
when
her
attention
is
recalled
by
Mr.
Gerard
's
voice
addressing
her
.
She
starts
and
blushes
furiously
,
like
a
child
whose
fingers
have
been
found
straying
among
the
jam-pots
.
He
looks
amused
at
her
confusion
.
"
I
have
just
been
thinking
,
Miss
Craven
,
how
pleasant
your
first
impressions
of
us
must
be
.
What
a
well-mannered
,
courteous
family
you
must
think
us
!
—
I
tumbling
out
of
the
window
at
the
risk
of
breaking
my
neck
to
avoid
you
,
and
my
father
and
mother
going
to
dinner
without
you
.
"
"
If
you
had
been
a
little
quicker
in
your
movements
,
I
should
have
known
nothing
about
you
,
"
responds
she
,
the
carmine
called
forth
by
her
detection
dying
slowly
out
of
her
cheeks
,
and
noticing
only
the
half
of
his
sentence
that
refers
to
himself
.
"
Ah
!
I
am
not
so
young
as
I
was
"
(
with
a
sigh
)
;
"
but
,
to
tell
the
truth
,
we
had
just
been
dragging
the
pool
,
like
Boodles
in
'
Happy
Thoughts
,
'
and
I
was
such
a
mass
of
mud
that
I
had
not
moral
courage
to
face
you
.
"
"
We
should
have
met
on
equal
terms
.
I
was
as
black
as
a
coal
,
was
not
I
?
"
"
Railroads
do
make
one
wonderfully
dusty
,
"
replies
Miss
Blessington
,
with
a
polite
,
evasive
platitude
.
"
I
had
a
worse
infliction
than
any
dust
to
bear
,
"
says
Esther
,
stretching
her
long
throat
around
the
bigonia
to
get
a
fuller
view
of
her
vis-à-vis
.
"
A
baby
,
of
course
?
"
replies
he
,
stretching
his
neck
too
for
a
like
purpose
.
"
An
aggravated
case
of
baby
—
a
baby
that
had
something
odd
the
matter
with
it
.
"
"
Not
so
bad
as
a
man
drinking
sherry
,
"
says
he
,
his
grey
eyes
and
a
bit
of
his
nose
laughing
through
the
leaves
;
"
a
woman
eating
gingerbread
is
bad
enough
.
I
travelled
once
with
a
woman
who
ate
gingerbread
from
London
to
Holyhead
without
stopping
.
"
"
And
did
not
offer
you
any
?
"
"
Good
heavens
,
no
!
What
a
prodigious
suggestion
!
—
that
would
have
been
adding
insult
to
injury
.
"
"
If
I
had
been
travelling
with
you
I
should
undoubtedly
have
offered
you
some
.
I
should
have
judged
you
by
myself
,
and
I
am
very
fond
of
gingerbread
.
"
"
Indeed
!
"
"
And
"
(
with
a
mischievous
look
)
"
fonder
still
of
peppermint
lozenges
,
particularly
in
church
on
hot
Sunday
afternoons
.
"
They
were
getting
quite
voluble
,
chatting
and
chirping
like
a
nest
of
magpies
—
like
children
playing
and
laughing
in
a
garden
,
unmindful
that
in
a
cave
in
a
corner
is
a
great
old
bear
who
may
pounce
out
on
them
at
any
moment
.
The
Felton
bear
pounces
.
"
What
the
devil
do
you
mean
leaving
that
door
open
Morris
!
John
!
George
!
Here
,
some
of
you
!
there
's
a
door
open
somewhere
between
here
and
the
kitchen
:
Do
n't
contradict
me
,
sir
!
I
say
there
is
;
if
I
catch
you
propping
those
swing
doors
open
,
"
etc.
etc.
The
birds
have
gone
to
bed
,
and
the
slugs
come
out
to
walk
on
the
damp
garden
paths
.
Now
and
then
a
little
wind
gets
up
,
whispers
a
word
or
two
to
the
polished
laurel
leaves
,
and
lies
down
again
.
There
is
a
carpet
of
thin
,
smoke-grey
clouds
over
heaven
's
blue
floor
.
The
two
girls
are
strolling
up
and
down
the
terrace
walk
.
Esther
has
got
a
red
cloak
thrown
about
her
shoulders
;
she
is
not
in
the
least
afraid
of
taking
cold
,
and
declined
the
offer
of
it
in
the
first
instance
;
but
on
second
thoughts
,
reflecting
that
the
dining-room
windows
look
on
the
terrace
,
and
that
the
fairy
prince
may
see
and
like
the
combination
of
black
eyes
and
red
cloth
(
fairy
princes
being
always
partial
to
gay
colours
)
,
accepted
it
.
I
have
called
Esther
"
little
,
"
and
Miss
Blessington
"
large
;
"
but
the
truth
is
they
are
much
of
a
height
.
The
difference
between
them
is
,
that
one
is
a
young
,
slight
sapling
that
has
,
been
so
busy
shooting
up
skywards
,
that
it
has
had
no
leisure
to
grow
broad
,
and
that
the
other
is
a
full-grown
,
spreading
,
stately
forest
tree
.
And
yet
they
are
the
same
age
;
but
some
women
develope
,
mind
and
body
,
much
quicker
than
others
.
From
the
unshuttered
dining-room
windows
comes
a
great
square
of
yellow
lamplight
,
and
lies
smooth
upon
the
gravel
.
Looking
in
you
see
rifled
fruit
dishes
,
half-filled
wine-glasses
,
moths
flying
round
and
round
the
lamp
globes
,
trying
their
best
to
find
an
entrance
to
fiery
death
.
Sir
Thomas
,
in
his
red
velvet
easy
chair
,
with
his
white
duck
legs
stretched
out
before
him
—
duck
trousers
and
a
blue
coat
and
brass
buttons
are
,
I
need
hardly
say
,
the
fine
old
English
gentleman
's
dinner
costume
—
with
his
head
thrown
back
,
till
you
can
see
either
up
into
his
brains
or
down
his
throat
,
whichever
you
choose
.
St.
John
,
with
his
elbow
resting
on
the
shining
oak
table
,
which
reflects
it
as
a
mirror
would
,
and
his
head
on
his
hand
,
in
a
brown
study
.
"
Do
you
always
walk
up
and
down
here
,
Miss
Blessington
?
"
inquires
Esther
,
who
is
getting
rather
tired
of
pacing
along
,
along
,
along
monotonously
,
with
her
gown
sweeping
a
little
avalanche
of
pebbles
behind
her
.
"
Generally
"
(
with
a
pretty
smile
)
.
Miss
Blessington
has
a
very
pretty
smile
—
an
"
angelic
smile
"
—
people
say
who
see
her
only
once
;
but
it
is
only
one
,
and
is
aired
every
hour
of
the
day
—
comes
out
for
Sir
Thomas
,
for
Lady
Gerard
,
for
servants
,
for
dogs
,
for
callers
,
for
old
almswomen
,
for
St.
John
—
so
that
none
can
take
it
personally
,
can
they
?
"
By
yourself
?
"
"
Not
generally
.
"
The
pretty
smile
is
dashed
with
a
faint
complacency
.
(
"
H
'm
I
That
means
with
St.
John
—
"
'
Walking
in
a
shady
grove
With
my
Juliana
.
'
Pleasant
look-out
for
me
!
A
bad
third
!
What
a
pity
that
Bob
is
not
here
!
we
should
be
a
partie
carrée
,
and
might
change
partners
every
now
and
then
;
Miss
Blessington
should
have
Bob
,
and
I
would
have
St.
John
!
"
)
Below
the
terrace
spreads
a
large
square
of
grass
,
uninvaded
by
flower-bed
or
shrub
,
mowed
and
rolled
,
rolled
and
mowed
,
into
the
similitude
of
a
pancake
for
flatness
.
There
croquet-hoops
glance
whitely
in
the
soft
half-light
;
mallets
lie
strewn
like
dead
soldiers
after
a
battle
;
balls
red
,
blue
,
and
yellow
,
like
great
ripe
fruit
tumbled
among
the
grass
.
"
Is
this
your
croquet-ground
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Nice
and
level
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Like
a
billiard
table
,
only
a
prettier
green
?
"
"
Yes
;
would
you
like
a
game
?
"
"
Better
than
doing
nothing
,
is
n't
it
?
"
answers
Esther
,
cheerily
;
she
being
a
young
woman
to
whom
the
words
rest
and
enjoyment
are
not
synonymous
,
as
they
mostly
grow
to
be
to
people
in
later
years
.
From
the
dining-room
comes
the
faint
melody
of
the
trombone
,
played
with
the
skill
of
much
practice
by
Sir
Thomas
's
nose
.
Some
one
comes
to
the
window
,
looks
out
,
puts
a
hand
on
the
sill
,
and
jumps
down
.
St.
John
apparently
has
an
aversion
from
going
out
and
coming
in
by
the
authorised
modes
of
exit
and
entrance
.
Now
that
one
can
see
him
without
any
bigonia
interposing
,
one
notices
that
he
has
kind
,
eager
eyes
—
eyes
that
seem
to
be
looking
,
looking
for
something
that
they
have
not
found
yet
—
and
rather
a
long
nose
,
that
the
sun
has
got
hold
of
and
browned
,
as
a
cook
browns
mashed
potatoes
.
"
Wo
n't
you
join
us
,
St.
John
?
"
asks
Miss
Blessington
,
stooping
to
reinstate
a
fallen
hoop
,
and
looking
calm
invitation
at
him
out
of
her
great
,
fine
,
passionless
,
cow
eyes
.
St.
John
hesitates
,
and
looks
towards
Esther
to
see
whether
she
is
not
going
to
second
the
invitation
;
but
she
is
balancing
herself
with
her
two
feet
on
a
croquet-mallet
,
and
does
not
appear
to
see
him
.
"
Gooseberry
I
may
be
,
"
she
thinks
,
"
but
,
at
all
events
,
I
wo
n't
be
instrumental
in
making
myself
so
.
"
"
Do
I
ever
play
?
"
asks
he
,
with
petulance
,
walking
off
in
a
huff
.
"
He
did
not
accept
your
invitation
with
the
exultant
gratitude
one
would
have
expected
,
did
he
?
"
says
Miss
Craven
,
maliciously
.
"
He
hates
the
game
,
"
replies
Miss
Blessington
,
rather
sharplier
than
is
her
wont
—
"
particularly
playing
with
odd
numbers
.
"
"
Oh
!
"
The
match
begins
;
it
is
about
as
fair
as
a
foot
race
between
Deerfoot
and
a
lame
baby
.
Esther
has
played
about
six
times
in
the
course
of
her
life
;
Miss
Blessington
about
six
thousand
.
Miss
Blessington
makes
the
round
of
the
hoops
in
triumphant
solitude
,
while
poor
Essie
struggles
feebly
,
ignorantly
,
unscientifically
,
to
ring
a
bell
that
refuses
to
emit
the
faintest
tinkle
.
"
Hare
and
tortoise
!
"
cries
she
,
laughing
at
her
own
discomfiture
;
"
you
'll
go
to
sleep
presently
,
and
I
shall
crawl
in
and
win
.
"
"
Since
you
wish
me
,
I
do
n't
mind
taking
a
mallet
,
"
says
St.
John
,
appearing
suddenly
round
a
big
Wellingtonia
,
and
looking
confusedly
conscious
of
being
seen
descending
very
awkwardly
from
his
high
horse
.
"
How
do
you
know
we
wish
you
to
take
one
?
—
we
never
said
so
,
"
says
Essie
,
flashing
at
him
with
her
wicked
,
laughing
,
half-lowered
eyes
.
(
"
Since
I
am
another
's
and
he
is
another
's
,
I
do
n't
see
why
we
should
not
try
to
amuse
each
other
,
"
she
says
to
herself
.
)
"
It
is
your
turn
to
play
,
Miss
Craven
,
"
interposes
Constance
,
coldly
.
"
Come
to
my
rescue
,
wo
n't
you
?
"
says
Esther
,
making
her
seventy-second
careless
,
abortive
attempt
at
the
bell
,
and
throwing
twice
as
much
empressement
into
her
voice
from
the
amiable
motive
that
she
thinks
such
empressement
is
displeasing
to
Miss
Blessington
.
"
You
snubbed
me
so
just
now
that
I
do
n't
think
I
will
.
I
'll
leave
you
to
perish
miserably
,
"
answers
he
,
looking
at
her
as
he
speaks
with
an
intentness
only
excusable
by
the
dim
light
,
and
the
indistinctness
of
all
objects
in
it
.
"
Constance
,
if
you
do
n't
mind
I
'll
take
one
of
Miss
Craven
's
balls
.
"
"
If
you
remember
,
I
asked
you
to
join
us
half
an
hour
ago
,
"
replies
Constance
,
in
her
measured
way
.
"
I
make
one
stipulation
before
we
start
,
"
cries
Esther
,
gaily
,
"
and
that
is
,
that
you
make
no
remarks
upon
my
play
except
such
as
are
of
a
laudatory
nature
.
"
"
I
'll
make
no
stipulation
of
the
kind
,
"
answers
he
,
gaily
too
;
"
if
I
see
anything
reprehensible
I
shall
testify
.
"
Fate
does
not
smile
upon
the
union
of
St.
John
and
Esther
.
Disgrace
and
disaster
attend
their
arms
;
in
ignorance
,
unskilfulness
,
and
general
incapacity
,
St.
John
is
no
whit
inferior
to
his
partner
.
"
Why
,
you
play
worse
than
I
do
,
"
cries
she
,
delighted
at
the
discovery
.
"
I
know
I
do
,
"
he
answers
,
not
too
amiably
;
"
I
should
be
ashamed
of
myself
if
I
did
not
;
it
is
the
vilest
,
stupidest
game
ever
any
idiot
invented
;
no
play
in
it
whatever
.
All
luck
!
all
chance
!
Look
there
!
"
pointing
with
a
sort
of
ill-tempered
resignation
to
Constance
,
who
,
with
dress
delicately
lifted
with
one
hand
,
and
foot
gracefully
poised
,
is
inflicting
heavy
chastisement
,
with
a
calm
,
satisfied
vindictiveness
,
on
his
ball
.
"
Take
that
,
you
fool
you
!
"
(
this
is
addressed
to
the
ball
,
not
to
Miss
Blessington
)
hurling
his
mallet
at
it
as
it
scuds
swiftly
over
the
sward
and
lodges
in
the
pink
and
purple
breast
of
an
aster
bed
.
The
head
and
handle
of
the
mallet
fly
asunder
from
the
violence
of
their
passage
through
the
air
,
and
Mr.
Gerard
is
reduced
to
the
ignominy
of
picking
up
the
disjecta
membra
and
hammering
them
together
again
.
"
You
must
make
a
sensation
when
you
go
to
a
croquet
party
,
"
remarks
Esther
,
sarcastically
.
"
Do
you
think
so
badly
of
me
as
to
suppose
I
ever
do
?
is
thy
servant
a
curate
that
he
should
do
this
thing
?
"
he
answers
,
coming
over
and
standing
close
to
her
.
"
Please
attend
to
the
game
,
St.
John
!
It
is
you
to
play
!
"
exclaims
Constance
,
with
suppressed
,
lady-like
irritation
,
from
the
other
end
of
the
ground
,
where
she
stands
in
majestic
solitude
.
It
is
the
penalty
of
greatness
to
be
lonely
.
A
few
more
egregious
blunders
on
the
part
of
the
firm
of
Gerard
and
Craven
,
a
few
more
masterstrokes
by
Miss
Blessington
,
and
the
game
draws
to
a
conclusion
.
"
It
is
ridiculous
playing
against
such
luck
as
yours
,
Constance
,
"
cries
St.
John
,
flinging
down
his
weapon
in
an
unjust
,
unreasonable
fury
.
"
It
is
always
the
same
;
it
does
not
matter
what
—
whist
,
billiards
,
anything
—
always
the
same
story
.
Take
my
advice
"
(
turning
to
Essie
,
and
speaking
eagerly
)
,
"
never
play
at
anything
,
or
do
anything
,
or
be
anything
with
me
,
or
you
'll
be
sure
to
be
a
loser
.
I
am
the
most
unlucky
devil
under
the
sun
.
"
Then
he
feels
that
he
is
making
a
fool
of
himself
,
and
walks
off
in
a
rage
.
"
Why
,
he
is
really
cross
,
"
says
Esther
,
opening
her
great
eyes
and
looking
a
little
blankly
after
him
.
"
He
is
rather
odd-tempered
,
"
answers
Miss
Blessington
,
composedly
;
"
and
the
most
singular
thing
is
,
that
it
is
always
the
people
he
is
fondest
of
with
whom
he
is
most
easily
irritated
.
"
"
How
fond
he
must
be
of
you
!
"
says
Esther
,
internally
.
CHAPTER
IX
.
DEATH
and
the
sun
are
very
much
alike
in
one
respect
,
and
that
is
,
their
utter
impartiality
and
stupid
want
of
discernment
.
They
make
no
difference
between
those
who
love
them
and
those
who
hate
.
They
pay
their
visits
equally
so
those
who
are
longing
for
and
lifting
up
eager
hands
towards
them
,
and
those
who
would
much
prefer
to
be
without
them
.
I
will
drop
the
parallel
,
which
cannot
be
carried
much
farther
,
and
talk
of
the
sun
only
.
He
certainly
shows
very
little
judgment
,
and
less
taste
,
in
these
matters
.
He
gives
his
great
,
warm
light
just
as
readily
to
a
scullery
as
a
boudoir
,
to
an
ill-smelling
dunghill
as
to
a
bed
of
mignonette
;
kisses
with
just
as
much
relish
the
raddled
cheeks
of
an
old
fish-wife
as
the
fresh
scarlet
lips
of
a
young
countess
.
This
present
August
morning
he
is
blazing
full
and
hot
on
that
very
grievous
daub
of
Mrs.
Brandon
in
a
no-waisted
black
satin
,
out
of
which
she
appears
to
be
bursting
,
like
a
chrysalis
from
its
sheath
,
in
the
Plas
Berwyn
dining-room
,
and
not
a
whit
more
fully
or
more
hotly
on
the
exquisite
"
Monna
Lisa
"
of
Da
Vinci
,
which
is
the
chief
jewel
of
the
Gerard
collection
.
The
same
sunbeam
that
brings
out
with
such
clearness
Monna
Lisa
's
faint
,
weird
smile
,
takes
in
also
within
its
compass
Esther
's
small
,
swart
head
,
round
the
back
of
which
coils
a
great
,
loose
,
careless
twist
of
burnished
hair
,
like
a
black
snake
.
She
is
standing
outside
the
dining-room
door
,
with
her
lithe
,
svelte
figure
stooped
forward
a
little
.
The
family
are
at
prayers
,
as
she
ascertained
by
applying
her
ear
to
the
key-hole
,
and
hearing
a
harsh
,
elderly
voice
going
at
a
good
round
trot
through
a
variety
of
petitions
,
for
himself
,
his
children
(
he
has
only
one
,
and
hates
him
)
,
his
friends
,
his
enemies
,
his
queen
,
his
bishops
and
curates
,
his
black
brethren
,
etc.
,
all
without
the
vestige
of
a
comma
between
them
.
"
What
!
eavesdropping
?
"
asks
St.
John
,
coming
down
the
handsome
,
shallow
stairs
in
knickerbockers
and
heather-mixture
stockings
that
his
old
mother
made
him
.
"
Hush
!
"
holding
up
her
forefinger
;
"
they
are
at
prayers
.
"
St.
John
listens
too
,
and
a
sneer
comes
and
settles
on
his
mouth
.
"
Is
n't
he
a
worthy
rival
for
the
man
who
said
he
would
give
any
one
as
far
as
Pontius
Pilate
in
the
Creed
,
and
then
beat
him
?
"
"
You
ought
not
to
abuse
your
own
father
"
(
in
a
whisper
)
.
"
I
know
I
ought
not
"
(
in
another
whisper
)
.
"
Why
do
you
,
then
?
"
casting
down
her
eyes
,
that
he
may
see
how
large
a
portion
of
downy
cheeks
her
long
curly
lashes
shade
.
"
I
only
do
for
him
what
I
know
he
would
do
for
me
if
he
had
the
chance
.
"
"
Hush
!
they
are
nearly
over
.
"
"
...
.
be
with
us
all
evermore
.
Amen
.
Morris
!
"
"
Yes
,
Sir
Thomas
.
"
"
What
the
deuce
do
you
mean
sticking
the
legs
of
that
chair
against
the
wall
knocking
all
the
paint
off
the
wainscot
?
"
"
Oh
!
blessings
on
his
kindly
voice
,
And
on
his
silver
hair
!
"
says
St.
John
,
in
ironical
quotation
;
and
then
the
door
opens
,
and
a
long
string
of
servants
issue
out
,
and
the
two
culprits
again
,
as
on
the
previous
evening
,
together
enter
.
Lady
Gerard
never
appears
at
breakfast
.
About
twenty
years
ago
she
had
an
illness
,
and
,
on
the
strength
of
it
,
has
kept
up
a
character
for
invalidhood
ever
since
.
Miss
Blessington
takes
her
place
at
the
head
of
the
table
;
she
is
sitting
there
now
.
Her
shapely
hands
are
busy
among
the
teacups
;
her
white
lids
drooped
over
her
calm
eyes
.
There
is
a
great
gold
cross
on
her
breast
,
that
rises
and
falls
in
soft
,
even
undulations
.
Eve
,
as
she
was
when
first
she
grew
into
separate
entity
and
embodiment
out
of
Adam
's
side
;
Eve
,
of
creamiest
flesh
,
and
richest
,
reddest
blood
,
before
a
soul
—
a
tormenting
,
puzzling
,
intangible
,
incomprehensible
soul
—
was
breathed
into
her
.
When
Constance
marries
,
her
husband
will
gaze
at
her
as
a
man
might
gaze
at
Gibson
's
"
Venus
,
"
supposing
that
he
had
bought
for
a
great
price
that
marvel
of
modern
sculpture
,
and
had
set
it
up
in
the
place
of
honour
in
his
gallery
.
He
would
half-shut
his
eyes
,
the
better
to
appreciate
the
exquisite
turn
of
the
cold
,
stately
throat
,
the
modelling
of
the
little
rounded
wrist
;
would
put
his
head
on
one
side
,
and
look
at
it
this
way
and
that
,
to
determine
whether
he
liked
the
tinting
.
"
Faultily
faultless
,
icily
regular
,
splendidly
null
,
"
as
the
pithy
line
that
everybody
knows
,
and
that
next
to
nobody
could
have
written
,
hath
it
.
At
forty
Constance
will
be
a
much
handsomer
woman
than
Esther
.
At
forty
those
clean-cut
,
immovable
,
expressionless
features
will
be
hardly
the
worse
for
wear
;
that
colourless
marble
skin
will
be
hardly
less
smoothly
polished
than
it
is
now
.
At
forty
Esther
(
if
she
live
so
long
)
will
have
cried
and
laughed
,
and
fretted
and
teased
herself
into
a
mere
shadow
of
her
present
self
.
Every
one
's
letters
at
Felton
are
put
on
their
plate
for
them
.
As
Esther
takes
her
seat
,
she
perceives
that
there
is
one
for
her
—
one
directed
in
a
scrawling
,
schoolboy
hand
.
The
blood
rushes
to
her
face
,
as
it
does
to
a
turkeycock
's
wattles
when
he
is
excited
or
angry
,
and
she
thrusts
it
hastily
into
her
pocket
.
To
her
guilty
imagination
it
seems
that
written
all
over
it
,
in
big
red
letters
,
legible
to
every
eye
,
is
,
"
From
Bob
Brandon
,
Esther
Craven
's
lover
.
"
As
her
eyes
lift
themselves
shyly
,
to
see
whether
St.
John
is
observing
her
,
they
meet
his
,
looking
at
her
curiously
,
interestedly
,
puzzledly
.
"
We
allow
people
to
read
their
letters
at
breakfast
here
,
"
he
says
,
with
a
friendly
smile
;
"
we
are
not
particular
as
to
manners
,
as
I
dare
say
you
have
found
out
by
this
time
.
"
"
Oh
!
thanks
,
I
'm
in
no
hurry
;
it
's
of
no
consequence
—
it
will
keep
,
"
answers
Esther
,
disjointedly
,
with
would-be
indifference
,
and
the
turkeycock
hue
spreading
to
the
edge
of
her
white
gown
.
The
morning
hours
at
Felton
are
not
exciting
.
Sir
Thomas
is
building
a
new
orchid
house
,
and
spends
much
of
his
time
standing
over
the
bricklayers
,
like
an
Egyptian
overseer
,
telling
them
with
his
usual
courteous
candour
how
much
more
he
knows
about
their
trade
than
they
themselves
do
,
who
have
been
at
it
all
their
lives
.
St.
John
disappears
too
,
and
Constance
and
Esther
are
left
tête-à-tête
.
Esther
has
plenty
of
time
to
read
Bob
's
letter
,
and
to
understand
it
,
which
latter
requires
some
ingenuity
,
as
,
from
the
greater
rapidity
of
his
thoughts
than
of
his
pen
,
he
omits
most
of
the
little
words
—
tos
and
ands
and
whichs
and
whos
and
hes
and
shes
.
There
is
a
good
deal
about
his
mother
in
it
:
several
messages
from
her
;
a
great
many
questions
as
to
what
Mr.
Gerard
was
like
,
with
solemn
adjurations
to
answer
them
;
a
sheet
devoted
to
the
exposition
of
the
luxury
in
which
it
is
possible
to
live
on
£
300
a
year
;
and
,
lastly
,
a
sentence
or
two
as
to
his
great
loneliness
,
and
his
eager
longing
to
have
his
darling
Esther
back
again
—
not
much
on
that
head
,
as
if
he
were
afraid
of
marring
her
enjoyment
by
intruding
upon
her
the
picture
of
his
own
disconsolateness
.
It
was
not
an
eloquent
letter
;
in
fact
,
it
was
rather
a
stupid
one
,
and
had
evidently
been
written
with
a
very
nasty
scratchy
pen
;
but
for
all
that
it
was
a
nice
one
,
and
so
Esther
felt
,
and
wished
that
it
had
been
less
so
.
Bob
is
a
dear
fellow
;
and
,
no
doubt
,
when
she
goes
back
to
Glan-yr-Afon
,
she
will
be
very
glad
to
see
him
,
and
be
very
fond
of
him
;
but
,
for
the
present
,
she
would
like
to
forget
him
altogether
—
to
have
a
holiday
from
him
:
he
seems
to
come
in
incongruously
now
somehow
.
"
Where
's
St.
John
?
"
grunts
miladi
,
who
makes
her
appearance
towards
luncheon
time
,
from
the
arm-chair
which
is
witness
to
so
many
gentle
dozes
on
her
part
.
Miladi
likes
St.
John
;
he
is
very
good
to
her
,
and
often
stands
in
the
breach
between
her
and
Sir
Thomas
.
"
Vanished
,
"
answers
Miss
Blessington
,
in
her
slow
,
sweet
drawl
.
"
I
think
Miss
Craven
must
have
frightened
him
away
.
"
It
is
very
pleasant
,
is
not
it
?
when
you
think
you
have
been
making
a
highly
favourable
impression
on
a
person
,
to
hear
that
they
have
fled
before
you
in
abject
fear
.
"
I
had
no
idea
that
he
was
such
a
timid
fawn
,
"
answers
Essie
,
nettled
.
"
He
is
very
peculiar
,
"
says
Constance
,
her
white
fingers
flying
swiftly
in
and
out
among
the
coloured
silks
of
the
smoking
cap
she
is
embroidering
;
"
and
has
a
most
unfortunate
shrinking
from
strangers
.
"
"
The
greatest
friends
must
have
been
strangers
once
,
"
objects
Essie
,
feeling
rather
small
.
"
Quite
true
,
so
they
must
;
but
he
is
so
very
dificile
,
we
never
can
get
him
to
admire
any
one
—
can
we
,
aunt
?
"
But
"
aunt
"
has
fallen
sweetly
asleep
.
"
With
the
exception
of
two
or
three
fortunate
blondes
—
I
prefer
dark
people
myself
infinitely
,
do
n't
you
?
"
"
Infinitely
,
"
replies
Esther
,
with
emphasis
.
It
is
not
true
—
she
does
nothing
of
the
kind
;
but
,
after
all
,
what
is
truth
in
comparison
of
the
discomfiture
of
an
adversary
?
CHAPTER
X
.
LUNCHEON
comes
,
but
no
St.
John
.
After
luncheon
Sir
Thomas
,
Miss
Blessington
,
and
Miss
Craven
go
out
riding
.
Miss
Craven
's
knowledge
of
horsemanship
is
confined
to
her
exploits
on
a
small
,
shaggy
,
down-hearted
Welsh
pony
,
concerning
whom
it
would
be
difficult
to
predicate
which
he
was
fullest
of
,
years
or
grass
.
Miss
Blessington
has
lent
her
an
old
habit
;
it
is
much
too
big
in
the
waist
and
shoulders
for
her
,
but
a
well-made
garment
always
manages
to
adapt
itself
more
or
less
to
any
figure
,
and
she
does
not
look
amiss
in
it
.
It
is
a
matter
of
very
little
consequence
to
her
at
the
present
moment
how
she
looks
;
she
is
the
arrantest
coward
in
Christendom
,
and
her
heart
sinks
down
to
the
bottom
of
her
boots
as
she
sees
three
horses
that
look
unnaturally
tall
and
depressingly
cheerful
issue
through
the
great
folding-doors
that
open
into
the
stable-yard
.
"
Oh
,
Sir
Thomas
!
it
is
a
chesnut
,
is
it
?
Do
n't
they
say
that
chesnuts
always
have
very
uncertain
tempers
?
Oh
!
please
—
I
'm
rather
frightened
.
I
think
,
if
you
do
n't
mind
,
I
'd
almost
as
soon
—
"
"
Fiddlesticks
!
"
answers
Sir
Thomas
,
roughly
.
"
Cannot
have
my
horses
saddled
and
unsaddled
every
half-hour
because
you
do
n't
know
your
own
mind
.
God
bless
my
soul
,
child
!
Do
n't
look
as
if
you
were
going
to
be
hanged
!
Why
,
you
might
ride
her
with
a
bit
of
worsted
.
Here
,
Simpson
,
look
sharp
,
and
put
Miss
Craven
up
.
"
After
two
abortive
attempts
,
in
the
first
of
which
she
springs
short
,
and
glides
ignobly
to
earth
again
,
and
in
the
second
takes
a
bound
that
goes
near
to
carrying
her
clean
over
her
steed
,
after
having
given
Simpson
a
kick
in
the
face
,
and
torn
a
hole
in
her
borrowed
habit
,
Miss
Craven
is
at
length
settled
in
her
seat
.
It
is
a
hot
afternoon
;
after
all
,
I
think
that
miladi
has
the
best
of
it
,
sitting
in
a
garden-chair
under
a
tulip
tree
,
eating
apricots
.
The
deer
,
with
dappled
sides
and
heavy-
horned
heads
,
are
herding
about
the
rough
,
knotted
feet
of
the
great
trees
that
stand
here
and
there
in
solitary
kingship
about
the
park
.
They
spread
their
ancient
,
out-stretched
arms
between
earth
and
heaven
,
and
man
and
beast
rejoice
in
the
shade
thereof
.
The
dust
lies
a
hand-breadth
thick
upon
the
road
;
the
nuts
in
the
hedgerow
,
the
half-ripe
blackberries
,
the
rag-wort
in
the
grass
—
all
merge
their
distinctive
colours
in
one
dirty-white
mask
.
"
Is
she
going
to
kick
,
do
you
think
?
"
asks
Esther
,
in
a
mysterious
whisper
of
Miss
Blessington
,
across
Sir
Thomas
.
"
Does
not
it
mean
that
when
they
put
their
ears
back
?
"
"
I
do
n't
think
you
need
be
alarmed
,
"
answers
Constance
,
with
politely-veiled
contempt
;
"
it
is
only
the
flies
that
tease
her
.
"
The
animal
that
inspires
such
alarm
in
Esther
's
mind
,
is
a
slight
,
showy
thing
,
nearly
thoroughbred
;
a
capital
lady
's
park
hack
.
It
is
quiet
enough
,
only
that
the
quietness
of
a
young
,
oats-fed
mare
,
and
of
an
antediluvian
Welsh
pony
blown
out
with
grass
,
are
two
different
things
.
She
is
sidling
along
now
,
half
across
the
road
,
coquetting
with
her
own
shadow
.
"
Oh
,
Sir
Thomas
!
"
(
in
an
agonised
voice
)
"
why
does
not
she
walk
straight
?
Why
does
she
go
like
a
crab
?
"
"
Pooh
!
"
answers
Sir
Thomas
,
in
his
hard
,
loud
voice
;
"
it
's
only
play
!
"
"
If
I
'm
upset
,
I
do
n't
much
care
whether
it
is
in
play
or
earnest
,
"
rejoins
Esther
,
ruefully
.
The
glare
from
the
road
,
the
dust
and
the
midges
,
make
people
keep
their
eyes
closed
as
nearly
as
they
can
:
so
that
it
is
not
till
they
are
close
upon
him
that
they
perceive
that
the
man
who
is
dawdling
along
to
meet
them
on
a
stout
,
grey
cob
,
with
his
hat
and
coat
and
whiskers
nearly
as
white
as
any
miller
's
,
is
St.
John
.
He
looks
rather
annoyed
at
the
rencontre
.
"
I
have
been
over
to
Melford
,
Sir
Thomas
,
to
see
that
pointer
of
Burleigh
's
.
It
will
not
do
at
all
;
it
's
not
half
broken
.
"
"
You
had
better
turn
back
with
us
,
St.
John
,
"
suggests
Constance
,
graciously
.
"
No
,
thanks
;
much
too
hot
!
"
"
Au
revoir
,
then
,
"
nodding
her
head
and
her
tall
hat
,
and
about
a
million
flies
that
are
promenading
on
it
,
gracefully
.
Esther
's
fears
vanish
.
"
Three
is
no
company
,
"
she
says
in
a
low
voice
,
and
making
rather
a
plaintive
little
face
as
he
passes
her
.
Drawn
by
the
magnet
that
has
succeeded
in
drawing
to
itself
most
things
that
it
wished
—
viz.
,
a
woman
's
inviting
eyes
—
he
turns
the
cob
's
head
sharp
round
.
"
But
four
is
,
"
he
answers
,
with
an
eager
smile
,
putting
his
horse
alongside
of
hers
.
She
was
rather
compunctious
the
moment
she
had
said
it
.
It
is
reversing
the
order
of
things
—
the
woman
after
the
man
;
"
the
haystack
after
the
cow
;
"
as
the
homely
old
proverb
says
.
The
road
is
broad
,
and
for
a
little
while
they
all
four
jog
on
abreast
,
as
in
a
Roman
chariot-race
or
a
city
omnibus
—
rather
a
dreary
squadron
.
"
This
is
very
dull
,
"
thinks
Esther
.
"
Oh
!
if
I
could
lose
my
handkerchief
,
or
my
veil
,
or
my
gloves
!
Why
cannot
I
drop
my
whip
?
"
No
sooner
said
than
done
.
"
Oh
!
Mr.
Gerard
,
I
am
so
sorry
,
I
have
dropped
my
whip
!
"
Mr.
Gerard
,
of
course
,
dismounts
and
picks
it
up
;
Sir
Thomas
and
his
ward
pass
on
.
"
What
a
happy
thought
that
was
of
yours
!
"
says
St.
John
,
wiping
the
little
delicate
switch
before
giving
it
back
to
her
.
"
Happy
thought
!
What
do
you
mean
?
"
(
reddening
)
.
"
Oh
!
it
was
accident
,
was
it
?
I
quite
thought
you
had
dropped
it
on
purpose
,
and
was
lost
in
admiration
of
your
ingenuity
.
"
He
looks
at
her
searchingly
as
he
speaks
.
"
I
did
drop
it
on
purpose
,
"
she
answers
,
blushing
painfully
.
"
Why
do
you
make
me
tell
the
truth
,
when
I
did
not
mean
to
do
so
?
"
"
Do
n't
you
always
tell
truth
?
"
(
a
little
anxiously
)
,
"
Does
anybody
?
"
"
I
hope
so
.
A
few
men
do
,
I
think
.
"
"
As
I
have
no
pretensions
to
being
a
man
,
you
cannot
be
surprised
that
my
veracity
is
not
my
strongest
point
.
"
"
You
are
only
joking
"
(
looking
at
her
with
uneasy
intentness
)
.
"
Please
reassure
me
,
by
saying
that
you
do
not
tell
any
greater
number
of
fibs
than
every
one
is
compelled
to
contribute
towards
the
carrying
on
of
society
.
"
"
Perhaps
I
do
,
and
perhaps
I
do
not
.
"
He
looks
only
half-satisfied
with
this
oracular
evasion
;
but
does
not
press
the
point
farther
.
"
It
is
not
often
that
my
papa
and
I
take
the
air
together
;
we
think
we
have
almost
enough
of
each
other
's
society
in-doors
.
"
"
He
is
your
father
,
"
says
Esther
,
rather
snappishly
;
a
little
out
of
humour
with
him
for
having
put
her
out
of
conceit
with
herself
.
"
I
never
could
see
what
claim
to
respect
that
was
,
"
answers
he
,
gravely
;
"
on
the
contrary
I
think
that
one
's
parents
ought
to
apologise
to
one
for
bringing
one
,
without
asking
one
's
leave
,
into
such
a
disagreeable
place
as
this
world
is
.
"
"
Disagreeable
!
"
cries
Esther
,
turning
her
eyes
,
broad
open
,
in
childish
wonder
upon
him
.
"
Disagreeable
to
you
!
Young
and
—
"
"
Beautiful
,
were
you
going
to
say
?
"
"
No
,
certainly
not
—
and
with
plenty
of
money
to
make
it
pleasant
?
"
"
But
I
have
not
plenty
of
money
.
I
shall
have
,
probably
,
when
I
'm
too
old
to
care
about
it
!
he
is
good
for
thirty
years
more
,
you
know
,
"
nodding
respectfully
at
Sir
Thomas
's
broad
,
blue
back
.
"
It
must
be
tiring
,
waiting
for
dead
men
's
shoes
,
"
says
Esther
,
a
little
sardonically
.
"
Tiring
!
I
believe
you
,
"
says
St.
John
,
energetically
;
"
it
is
worse
than
tiring
—
it
is
degrading
.
Do
you
suppose
I
do
not
think
my
own
life
quite
as
contemptible
as
you
can
?
Take
my
word
for
it
"
(
emphasising
every
syllable
)
,
"
there
is
no
class
of
men
in
England
so
much
to
be
pitied
as
heirs
to
properties
.
We
cannot
dig
;
to
beg
we
are
ashamed
.
"
"
I
never
was
heir
to
anything
,
so
I
cannot
tell
.
"
"
I
should
have
been
a
happier
fellow
,
and
worth
something
then
,
perhaps
,
if
I
had
been
somebody
's
tenth
son
,
and
had
had
to
earn
my
bread
quill-driving
,
or
soap-boiling
,
or
sawbones-ing
.
I
think
I
see
myself
pounding
away
at
a
pestle
and
mortar
in
the
surgery
"
(
laughing
)
.
"
I
should
have
had
a
chance
,
then
,
of
being
liked
for
myself
too
,
even
if
I
did
smell
rather
of
pills
and
plaister
;
whereas
now
,
if
anybody
looks
pleasant
at
me
,
or
says
anything
civil
to
me
,
I
always
think
it
is
for
love
of
Felton
,
not
of
me
.
"
"
"
You
should
go
about
incognito
,
like
the
Lord
of
Burleigh
.
"
"
He
was
but
a
landscape
painter
,
you
know
.
Do
you
know
that
once
,
not
a
very
many
years
ago
,
I
had
a
ridiculous
notion
in
my
head
that
one
ought
to
try
and
do
some
little
good
in
the
world
?
Thanks
to
Sir
Thomas
's
assistance
and
example
,
I
have
very
nearly
succeeded
in
getting
rid
of
that
chimera
.
If
I
am
asked
at
the
Last
Day
how
I
have
spent
my
life
,
I
can
say
,
I
have
shot
a
few
bears
in
Norway
,
and
a
good
many
turkeys
and
grebe
in
Albania
;
I
have
killed
several
salmon
in
Connemara
:
I
have
made
a
fool
of
myself
once
,
and
a
beast
of
myself
many
times
.
"
"
How
did
you
make
a
fool
of
yourself
?
"
pricking
up
her
ears
.
"
Oh
!
never
mind
;
it
is
a
stupid
story
without
any
point
,
and
I
have
not
quite
come
to
the
pitch
of
dotage
of
telling
senile
anecdotes
about
myself
.
Here
,
let
us
turn
in
at
this
gate
,
and
take
a
cut
across
the
park
:
it
is
cooler
,
and
we
can
have
a
nice
gallop
under
the
trees
,
without
coming
in
for
the
full
legacy
of
Sir
Thomas
's
and
Conny
's
dust
,
as
we
are
doing
now
.
"
"
But
—
but
—
is
not
it
rather
dangerous
?
"
objects
Esther
,
demurring
.
"
Do
n't
they
sometimes
put
their
feet
into
rabbit-holes
,
and
tumble
down
and
break
their
legs
?
"
"
Frequently
,
I
may
almost
say
invariably
,
"
answers
St.
John
,
laughing
,
and
opening
the
gate
with
the
handle
of
his
whip
.
The
soft
,
springy
,
green
turf
is
certainly
pleasanter
than
the
hard
,
whity-brown
turnpike
road
,
and
so
the
horses
think
as
they
break
into
a
brisk
canter
.
The
quick
air
freshens
the
riders
'
faces
—
comes
to
them
like
comfortable
words
from
Heaven
to
a
soul
in
Purgatory
—
as
they
dash
along
under
the
trees
,
stooping
their
heads
every
now
and
then
to
avoid
coming
into
contact
with
the
great
,
low-spreading
boughs
.
Laughing
,
flushed
,
half-fright
,
half-enjoyment
:
"
She
looked
so
lovely
as
she
swayed
The
rein
with
dainty
finger-tips
;
A
man
had
given
all
other
bliss
,
And
all
his
worldly
worth
for
this
—
To
waste
his
whole
heart
in
one
kiss
Upon
her
perfect
lips
.
"
"
Delicious
!
I
'm
not
a
bit
afraid
now
;
I
bid
defiance
to
the
rabbit-holes
,
"
she
cries
,
with
little
breathless
pauses
between
the
words
.
Let
no
one
shout
before
they
are
out
of
the
wood
.
Hardly
have
the
words
left
her
mouth
,
when
all
at
once
,
at
their
very
feet
almost
,
from
among
the
seven-foot-high
fern
,
where
they
have
been
crouching
,
rise
a
score
of
deer
with
sudden
rustling
;
and
,
their
slender
knees
bent
,
spring
away
with
speedy
grace
through
the
mimic
forest
.
Esther
's
mare
,
frightened
at
the
sudden
apparition
(
many
horses
are
afraid
of
deer
)
,
swerves
violently
to
the
left
;
then
gets
her
head
down
,
and
sets
to
kicking
as
if
she
would
kick
herself
out
of
her
skin
.
"
Mind
!
Take
care
!
Hold
tight
!
Keep
her
head
up
!
"
shouts
St.
John
,
in
an
agony
.
Next
moment
the
chesnut
,
with
head
in
the
air
,
nostrils
extended
,
and
bridle
swinging
to
and
)
fro
against
her
fore
legs
,
tears
riderless
past
him
.
In
a
second
he
is
off
,
and
at
the
side
of
the
heap
of
blue
cloth
that
is
lying
motionless
among
the
buttercups
.
"
I
'm
not
dead
,
"
says
the
heap
,
raising
itself
,
and
smiling
rather
a
difficult
smile
up
at
him
,
as
he
leans
over
it
or
her
,
his
burnt
face
whitened
with
extremest
fear
.
"
Do
n't
look
so
frightened
!
"
"
Thank
God
!
"
he
says
,
hardly
above
his
breath
,
and
more
devoutly
than
he
is
in
the
habit
of
saying
his
prayers
.
"
When
I
saw
you
there
,
lying
all
shapeless
,
I
half
thought
—
Oh
!
"
(
with
a
shudder
)
"
I
do
n't
know
what
I
thought
.
"
"
I
must
be
tied
on
next
time
,
must
n't
I
?
"
says
Essie
,
putting
up
her
hand
to
her
head
with
an
uncertain
movement
,
as
if
she
were
not
quite
sure
of
finding
it
there
.
"
Oh
!
Mr.
Gerard
,
"
—
the
colour
coming
back
faintly
to
her
lips
and
cheeks
—
"
I
do
hate
riding
!
it
's
horribly
dangerous
!
quite
as
bad
as
a
battle
!
"
"
Quite
!
"
acquiesces
St.
John
,
laughing
heartily
in
his
intense
relief
.
"
And
you
are
quite
sure
you
are
not
hurt
?
"
"
Quite
!
"
"
Really
?
"
"
Really
!
"
To
prove
how
perfectly
intact
she
is
,
she
jumps
up
;
but
,
as
she
does
so
,
her
face
grows
slightly
distorted
with
a
look
of
pain
,
and
she
sinks
back
on
her
buttercup
bed
.
"
Not
quite
sure
,
either
;
I
seem
to
have
done
something
stupid
to
my
foot
—
turned
it
or
twisted
it
.
"
So
saying
,
she
thrusts
out
from
under
her
habit
a
small
foot
.
It
is
a
small
—
a
very
small
—
foot
;
but
the
boot
in
which
it
is
cased
is
country
made
,
and
about
three
times
too
big
for
it
;
so
that
it
might
rattle
in
it
,
like
a
pea
in
a
drum
.
Even
at
this
affecting
moment
St.
John
cannot
repress
a
slight
feeling
of
disappointment
.
"
I
'm
awfully
sorry
!
Whereabouts
does
it
hurt
?
There
?
"
putting
his
fingers
gently
on
the
slender
,
rounded
ankle
.
"
Yes
,
a
little
.
"
"
I
'm
awfully
sorry
!
"
(
You
see
there
is
not
much
variety
in
his
laments
.
)
"
What
can
I
do
for
it
?
gallop
home
as
hard
as
I
can
,
and
make
them
send
the
carriage
?
"
"
With
a
doctor
,
a
lawyer
,
and
a
parson
in
it
?
No
,
I
think
not
.
"
"
But
you
cannot
sit
here
all
night
.
Could
you
ride
home
,
do
you
think
?
"
"
On
that
dreadful
beast
?
"
with
a
horrified
intonation
.
"
But
if
I
lead
her
all
the
way
?
"
"
Very
well
"
(
reluctantly
)
;
"
but
(
brightening
a
little
)
I
cannot
ride
her
;
she
is
not
here
.
"
"
I
suppose
I
must
be
going
to
look
after
her
,
"
says
St.
John
,
dragging
himself
up
very
unwillingly
.
"
Brute
!
she
is
as
cunning
as
Old
Nick
!
And
you
are
sure
you
do
n't
mind
being
left
here
by
yourself
for
a
minute
or
two
?
"
"
Not
if
there
are
no
horses
within
reach
,
"
she
answers
,
with
an
innocent
smile
,
which
he
carries
away
with
him
through
the
sunshine
and
the
fern
and
the
grass
.
Essie
spends
full
half
an
hour
pushing
out
,
pinching
in
,
smoothing
and
stroking
Miss
Blessington
's
caved-in
hat
;
full
a
quarter
of
an
hour
in
picking
every
grass
and
sedge
and
oxeye
that
grew
within
reach
of
her
destroying
arm
;
and
full
another
quarter
in
thinking
what
a
pleasant
,
manly
,
straightforward
face
St.
John
's
is
—
what
a
thoroughly
terrified
face
it
looked
when
she
met
it
within
an
inch
of
her
own
nose
after
her
disgraceful
bouleversement
—
what
a
much
better
height
five
feet
ten
is
for
all
practical
purposes
than
six
feet
four
.
At
the
end
of
the
fourth
quarter
Mr.
Gerard
returns
,
with
a
fire
hardly
inferior
to
St.
Anthony
's
in
his
face
;
with
his
hair
cleaving
damply
to
his
brows
,
and
without
the
mare
.
"
Would
not
let
me
get
within
half
a
mile
of
her
!
far
too
knowing
!
Brute
!
and
now
she
'll
be
sure
to
go
and
knock
the
saddle
to
pieces
,
and
then
there
'll
be
the
devil
to
pay
!
"
"
I
'm
so
sorry
,
"
says
Esther
,
looking
up
sympathisingly
,
with
her
lap
full
of
decapitated
oxeyes
.
"
So
am
I
,
for
your
sake
:
you
'll
have
to
ride
the
cob
home
.
"
"
I
shall
have
to
turn
into
a
man
,
then
,
"
she
says
,
glancing
rather
doubtfully
at
the
male
saddle
.
"
No
,
you
wo
n't
,
"
(
laughing
)
.
He
rises
,
and
unfastens
the
cob
from
the
tree-branch
to
which
he
has
been
tied
.
He
has
been
indulging
a
naturally
greedy
disposition
—
biting
off
leaves
and
eating
them
—
until
he
has
made
his
bit
and
his
mouth
as
green
as
green
peas
.
"
You
must
let
me
put
you
up
,
I
think
,
"
says
Gerard
bending
down
and
looking
into
his
companion
's
great
,
sweet
eyes
,
under
the
rim
of
her
battered
,
intoxicating-looking
hat
.
"
Must
I
?
"
(
lowering
her
eyelids
shyly
.
)
"
Yes
;
do
you
mind
much
?
"
"
No
—
o
.
"
He
stoops
and
lifts
her
gently
.
He
is
not
a
Samson
or
a
prize-fighter
,
and
well
grown
young
women
of
seventeen
are
not
generally
feather-weights
;
but
yet
it
seems
to
him
that
the
second
occupied
in
raising
her
from
the
ground
and
placing
her
in
the
saddle
was
shorter
than
other
seconds
.
A
man
's
arms
are
not
sticks
or
bits
of
iron
,
that
they
can
hold
a
beautiful
woman
without
feeling
it
.
St.
John
's
blood
is
giving
little
quick
throbs
of
pleasure
.
His
arms
seem
to
feel
the
pressure
of
that
pleasant
burden
long
after
they
have
been
emptied
of
it
.
"
I
think
you
must
let
me
hold
you
,
"
he
says
,
gently
and
very
respectfully
passing
his
arm
round
her
waist
.
"
No
,
no
!
"
she
cries
,
hastily
,
pulling
herself
away
—
"
no
need
!
—
no
need
at
all
!
I
shall
not
fall
.
"
She
feels
an
overpowering
shrinking
from
the
enforced
,
unavoidable
familiarity
.
It
does
not
arise
from
any
distaste
for
St.
John
certainly
,
nor
yet
from
any
quixotic
loyalty
to
Bob
;
it
springs
from
a
new
,
unknown
,
uncomprehended
shyness
.
"
Very
well
,
"
he
answers
,
quietly
,
releasing
her
instantly
,
and
taking
the
bridle
in
his
hand
.
"
But
I
'm
afraid
you
will
find
that
you
are
mistaken
.
"
They
set
forward
across
the
park
,
at
a
foot
's
pace
and
in
silence
.
Esther
twists
her
hands
in
the
cob
's
mane
,
and
tries
to
persuade
herself
that
pommelless
pigskin
does
not
make
a
slippery
seat
.
Every
two
paces
she
slides
down
an
inch
or
so
,
and
then
recovers
herself
with
an
awkward
jerk
.
The
sun
is
hot
.
Now
and
then
,
as
the
cob
puts
his
foot
on
a
mole-hill
,
or
some
other
slight
inequality
in
the
ground
,
her
ankle
bumps
against
the
saddle-flap
.
She
feels
turning
giddy
and
sick
with
the
heat
and
the
pain
.
"
Mr.
Gerard
!
Mr.
Gerard
!
I
'm
falling
!
"
she
calls
out
loud
,
stretching
out
her
arms
to
him
,
and
clutching
hold
of
his
shoulder
with
a
violence
and
tenacity
that
she
herself
is
not
in
the
least
aware
of
.
He
is
magnanimous
.
He
does
not
exult
over
her
;
he
does
not
say
,
"
I
knew
how
it
would
be
;
I
told
you
so
!
"
He
only
says
,
in
a
kind
,
anxious
voice
,
and
plainlier
still
with
kind
,
anxious
eyes
,
"
I
'm
afraid
you
are
in
great
pain
?
"
and
replaces
the
rejected
arm
in
its
former
obnoxious
position
.
As
they
enter
the
lodge
gate
,
they
see
Sir
Thomas
and
his
ward
advancing
down
the
avenue
towards
them
.
Miss
Blessington
is
a
great
favourite
of
Sir
Thomas
's
.
She
is
good
to
look
at
,
and
hardly
ever
speaks
;
or
,
if
she
does
,
it
is
only
to
say
,
"
Yea
,
yea
,
and
Nay
,
nay
.
"
"
Now
for
an
exchange
of
civilities
,
"
says
Gerard
,
rather
bitterly
;
"
even
at
this
distance
I
can
see
him
getting
the
steam
up
.
"
"
Miss
Craven
has
had
a
fall
,
Sir
Thomas
,
and
hurt
herself
,
"
he
remarks
,
explanatorily
,
as
soon
as
the
two
parties
come
within
speaking
distance
.
"
Broken
the
mare
's
knees
,
I
suppose
?
"
cries
Sir
Thomas
,
loudly
,
taking
no
notice
whatever
of
Miss
Craven
's
casualties
.
"
Some
fool
's
play
,
of
course
;
larking
over
the
palings
,
I
dare
say
.
Well
,
sir
,
what
have
you
done
with
her
?
where
have
you
left
her
?
out
with
it
!
"
(
lashing
himself
up
into
an
irrational
turkeycock
fury
.
)
"
Damn
the
mare
!
"
answered
St.
John
in
a
rage
,
growing
rather
white
,
and
forgetting
his
manners
.
St.
John
's
rages
,
when
he
does
get
into
them
,
which
is
not
very
often
,
are
far
worse
ones
than
his
papa
's
,
and
so
the
latter
knows
,
and
is
cowed
by
the
first
symptoms
of
the
approach
of
one
.
Miss
Blessington
looks
up
shocked
.
This
jeune
personne
bien
élevée
always
is
shocked
at
whatever
people
ought
to
be
shocked
at
—
Colenso
,
Swinburne
,
skittles
,
etc.
"
You
are
not
much
hurt
,
really
,
I
hope
?
"
she
says
,
suavely
,
walking
along
beside
Esther
,
while
Sir
Thomas
and
his
heir
wrangle
in
the
background
.
"
Which
way
did
you
come
,
and
what
has
become
of
your
horse
?
"
"
We
came
through
the
park
,
"
answers
Esther
,
holding
on
by
her
eyelids
to
the
cob
's
slippery
back
;
"
so
I
suppose
the
horse
is
there
still
.
Mr.
Gerard
tried
to
catch
it
,
and
could
not
.
"
"
Through
the
park
!
"
repeats
Miss
Blessington
,
with
a
slight
smile
of
superior
intelligence
.
"
Oh
!
I
see
;
a
short
cut
home
!
Poor
St.
John
has
such
a
horror
of
taking
a
ride
for
riding
's
sake
,
that
he
always
tries
to
shorten
his
penance
as
much
as
possible
!
"
CHAPTER
XI
.
IT
is
the
1st
of
September
,
and
the
seal
of
impending
destruction
is
set
upon
many
a
little
plump
brown
bird
;
but
ignorance
is
bliss
,
and
the
little
brown
birds
do
not
know
it
,
and
are
walking
about
the
turnip
ridges
and
amongst
the
stubble
fields
as
confidently
as
if
there
were
no
such
man
as
Purdey
,
and
no
such
infernal
machine
as
a
gun
.
St.
John
and
his
papa
go
out
shooting
together
.
Sir
Thomas
knocks
up
by
luncheon
time
,
and
returns
to
his
orchid-house
,
and
to
the
goading
the
bricklayers
,
as
King
Agamemnon
did
his
fellow-chiefs
,
with
bitter
words
.
Esther
spends
the
day
in
her
bedroom
,
lying
in
state
on
a
sofa
with
her
ankle
bandaged
up
.
It
hurts
her
acutely
if
she
attempts
to
walk
on
it
;
but
if
she
keeps
quiet
,
she
is
hardly
aware
of
there
being
anything
wrong
with
it
.
It
is
very
annoying
having
to
play
the
invalid
for
an
ailment
that
is
purely
local
when
you
feel
in
riotous
health
and
spirits
—
to
have
your
dinner
sent
up
to
you
on
a
tray
when
you
are
so
hungry
that
you
could
eat
double
your
allotted
portion
,
if
it
were
not
that
,
being
an
invalid
,
you
are
ashamed
to
say
so
.
One
has
a
sense
of
shamming
,
malingering
.
Poor
Miss
Craven
passes
a
very
dull
day
;
the
red
rose
on
one
side
the
window
,
and
the
travellers
'
joy
on
the
other
,
look
in
and
say
,
"
Why
is
this
lazy
child
lying
all
day
on
a
couch
,
when
we
and
so
many
other
flowers
have
been
calling
to
her
with
our
voiceless
voices
to
come
out
into
the
breeze
and
shine
"
A
bee
comes
in
sometimes
,
and
goes
buzz-buzzing
about
,
telling
himself
how
busy
he
is
,
and
that
he
has
no
time
to
waste
now
that
his
honey-harvest
is
drawing
so
near
to
its
sweet
close
.
The
room
is
so
still
that
,
but
for
feeling
intensely
alive
,
and
not
having
her
chin
tied
up
,
Esther
might
almost
imagine
herself
laid
out
previous
to
her
interment
.
Now
and
again
Miss
Blessington
enters
noiselessly
,
says
"
I
hope
you
are
feeling
a
little
easier
,
"
in
her
soft
monotone
,
and
then
rustles
gently
away
again
.
She
has
provided
Esther
with
a
novel
and
a
book
of
acrostics
,
and
thinks
she
has
done
her
duty
by
her
neighbour
amply
.
The
novel
is
one
written
with
a
purpose
;
a
dull
one-sided
tilt
against
Ritualism
.
Esther
never
found
out
an
acrostic
in
her
life
,
and
has
seldom
been
so
completely
vacant
of
employment
as
to
try
.
She
is
,
therefore
,
reduced
to
spending
half
the
day
in
writing
to
Bob
—
half
the
day
!
and
yet
when
the
letter
is
finished
it
only
covers
three
sides
of
a
sheet
.
She
has
written
,
rewritten
,
and
re-rewritten
it
.
All
around
and
about
her
lie
half-covered
,
quarter-covered
,
whole-covered
sheets
,
all
stamped
with
the
seal
of
condemnation
.
Gerard
is
the
stumbling
block
;
his
name
either
will
not
come
in
at
all
,
which
looks
unnatural
,
or
else
insists
on
thrusting
itself
in
every
second
line
.
This
is
the
form
in
which
Miss
Craven
's
billetdoux
finally
presents
itself
at
Plas
Berwyn
:
"
DEAR
BOB
,
—
Thanks
very
much
for
your
letter
;
please
put
a
few
stops
next
time
.
I
had
a
very
disagreeable
journey
here
—
bushels
of
dust
and
a
sick
baby
.
This
is
a
very
handsome
place
,
and
they
are
all
very
kind
to
me
.
(
H
'm
!
are
they
?
I
do
n't
know
about
that
;
one
of
them
,
is
.
)
Yesterday
I
went
out
riding
with
Sir
Thomas
and
his
ward
(
so
I
did
;
I
set
out
with
them
)
,
and
I
stupidly
fell
from
my
horse
,
a
sort
of
thing
that
nobody
but
I
would
have
done
,
and
hurt
my
foot
a
little
;
but
nothing
to
speak
of
.
Miss
Blessington
,
the
ward
,
is
remarkably
handsome
,
but
looks
a
great
deal
older
than
I
do
.
My
love
to
your
mother
,
and
thanks
for
her
kind
messages
;
the
same
to
the
girls
.
Tell
Bessy
that
it
is
hardly
worth
while
sending
me
'
The
Sinfulness
of
Little
Sins
,
'
as
I
shall
have
more
time
for
reading
when
I
get
home
again
.
"
Yours
affectionately
,
"
E
.
C
.
"
P.S.
—
Mr.
Gerard
is
not
at
all
good-looking
;
he
seems
very
fond
of
shooting
;
he
has
been
out
all
to-day
.
"
"
The
long
day
wanes
:
the
slow
moon
climbs
.
"
Dinner
is
over
