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Few people, it appeared, were more in demand among the great than those who gave it out that they would, if they could, abolish the great. "It's because they're not enough afraid of us yet," he said to himself, not without spleen. "When we really get to business if we ever do I shall not be coming to Lady Cradock's parties." "Mr.
"When she had ta'en the mantle, And put it on her back, About the hem it seemed To wrinkle and to crack. "'Lie still, she cried, 'O mantle! And shame me not for naught; I'll freely own whate'er amiss Or blameful I have wrought. "'Once I kissed Sir Cradock Beneath the greenwood tree; Once I kissed Sir Cradock's mouth, Before he married me.
The head might yet devise, but the heart was failing him; his talent at hoping, which gave him buoyancy to carry out his enterprises, was almost at an end. Cradock's farewell scene with him is told in a simple but touching manner. "The day before I was to set out for Leicestershire I insisted upon his dining with us.
Mona had always been considered the least feather-brained of the family, and she certainly fulfilled her trust with absolute integrity. Piet Cradock's epistles were not quite so frequent, and invariably of the briefest. They were exceedingly formal at all times, and Nan's heart never warmed at the sight of his handwriting.
Nan, who knew a good deal more about psycho-analysis than Mrs. Hilary did, laughed curtly. "No good, mother. That won't work on me. I'm not susceptible to the treatment. Too hard-headed. What was Mr. Cradock's next brain-wave?" "Oh well, if you take it like this, what's the use...." "None at all. I advise you not to bother yourself.
"Pray now," said he to the Doctor, "what would you give, old gentleman, to be as young and sprightly as I am?" "Why, Sir, I think," replied Johnson, "I would almost be content to be as foolish." Cradock's Memoirs, i. 172. 'Dr. Johnson almost always prefers the company of an intelligent man of the world to that of a scholar. Mme. D'Arblay's Diary, i. 241.
If he was pleased to see that his false love's path was not entirely rose-bestrewn, or if he rejoiced at beholding the occasional annoyance of his rival, he allowed no evidence of his pleasure to appear in his face or manner. Georgina Cradock's rather insipid prettiness had developed into matronly comeliness. Her fair complexion and pink cheeks had lost none of their freshness.
Her confidence in him was, he told her, the expression of the father-image, which surprised Mrs. Hilary a little, because he was twenty years her junior. Mrs. Hilary felt that she was getting to know herself very well indeed. Seeing herself through Mr. Cradock's mind, she felt that she was indeed a curious jumble of complexes, of strange, mysterious impulses, desires and fears.
"I know nothing about them, madam," was his reply. But some time afterwards, forgetting himself, he severely censured them. The lady retorted: "I understood you to say, Sir, that you had never read them." "No, Madam, I did read them, but it was in a stage-coach; I should not have even deigned to look at them had I been at large." Cradock's Memoirs, p. 208. See ante, iii. 382, note 1.
I always knew her; she used to live at Mrs. Cradock's before she started on her journey; and her sister lived with that friend of mine that I visited the summer Willie was so sick with the mumps, and she was so kind to him.
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