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She didn't care a rap about the lectures, and thought they were mad to go traipsing all the way to Hampstead to harangue about things they could have discussed just as well now, couldn't they? at home. Aggie, she said, would become completely undomesticated. Mrs. Purcell was never pressed to stay longer than a week.
Aunt Aggie looked as if she had been coloured by some mistake from a palette prepared to depict a London fog. Her eyes were greyish yellow, like her eyelashes, like her hair, at least her front hair, like her eyebrows, and her complexion. She was short and stout. She called slender people skeletons.
"By Jove, Aggie, it's too beastly hot here for words," growled he for the hundredth time. "I think we'd better move into your grandfather's rooms." "Now, Deppy, don't let the Brownes talk you into everything they suggest," she complained, determined to be stubborn to the end. "They know entirely too much about the place already; please don't let them know you as intimately."
She told him of Aggie, and of the foreign clubs, and of Koenig, and of the dinner party at the Home Secretary's, and then she skipped a step and cried: "Ding, dong, dended, My tale's ended." "And was it there you met Mr. Drake again?" She replied with a nod. "Never having seen him in the meantime?" She pursed her lips and shook her head. "That's all over now, and what matter?
I hope we shall get on better, in the future." Aggie and her two grandfathers were present, and James Walsham certainly did not show to advantage, by the side of the easy and self-possessed young officer. He muttered something about its being all right, and then found nothing else to say, being uncomfortable, and ill at ease.
John talked all the time to the shepherd, while Arthur talked to Aggie, and Aggie, cruel little Aggie, made remarks about the hard-heartedness of shearers. He looked long and thoughtfully at the sheep-shearing. "Boni pastoris est," he observed, "tondere oves, non deglubere." Aggie shook her pretty head, as much as to say Latin was beyond her; and he was kind enough to translate.
"Ah," said Arthur, rising solemn from the consecration of the primal kiss, and drawing himself up like a man for the first time aware of his full stature, "that makes that seem pretty poor stuff, doesn't it?" Young Arthur had just looked upon Love himself, and for that moment his vision was purged of vanity. "Not Browning?" asked Aggie, a little anxiously. "No Not Browning. Me.
Not that Queningford had ever wanted her to prove it; its young men, at any rate, very much preferred that she should leave her brains and theirs alone. And Aggie had brains enough to be aware of this; and being a very well-behaved young lady, and anxious to please, she had never mentioned any of her small achievements.
Van amusedly put it as she held the note. "Oh of depths below depths. But poor Jane of course after all she's human. She's beside herself with one thing and another, but she can't in any consistency show it. She took her stand so on having with Petherton's aid formed Aggie for a femme charmante " "That it's too late to cry out that Petherton's aid can now be dispensed with?
He's no used to see onybody sae ear'. I s' gang an' see gien I can help him; he never wad hae a man aboot 'im 'cep' the yoong laird himsel'." Relieved by her departure, his lordship began to look about the kitchen, and seeing Aggie, asked after her father. She replied that he was but poorly. "Getting old!" "Surely, my lord. He's makin' ready to gang." "Poor old man!" "What wad yer lordship hae?
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