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"At Mrs Crossland's, in Charles Street, where I shall be perfectly delighted to see my youngest sister." "Oh! Not with the Bracewells?" "With the Bracewells, certainly. Did you suppose they had pitch-forked me through the window into Mrs Crossland's drawing-room?" "But who is Mrs Crossland?"
The designs, if accurately copied, are so extremely unlike all that are known to us that we are not able to hazard even a guess at their provenance or meaning. The other design figured on the same page is copied from Carl Bock; it occurred on the shoulder of a Punan, and is said by Mr. Crossland to be commonly used by the Sea Dayaks of the Undup.
"A friend of the Bracewells," said Hatty, with an air of such studied carelessness that I began to wonder what was behind it. "Has Mrs Crossland daughters?" I asked. "One a little chit, scarce in her teens." "Is there a Mr Crossland?" "There isn't a Papa Crossland, if you mean that. There is a young Mr Crossland." "Oh!" said I.
We went down-stairs. Mrs Crossland was standing in the door of the drawing-room, with thin, shut-up lips, and a red, angry spot on either cheek. Inside the room I caught a glimpse of Annabella, looking woefully white and frightened. Mr Crossland I could nowhere see. "Madam," said my Uncle Charles, sarcastically, "I will thank you to give up those other young ladies, my nieces' cousins.
Not much more than a fortnight after this attack on Rawfolds, another manufacturer who employed the obnoxious machinery was shot down in broad daylight, as he was passing over Crossland Moor, which was skirted by a small plantation in which the murderers lay hidden.
Miss Crossland, will you show me the way?" I do not know whether Mrs Crossland thought me bold and unladylike, but if she had known how every bit of me was trembling, she might perhaps have changed that view. "O Miss Caroline, how can you? I could not allow Annabella to do such a thing. Think of the clanger! Annabella, come back! You shall not go into an infected air."
Several times I have thought, and the thought grows upon me, that somebody does not want Hatty and me to have a quiet talk with each other. At first I thought it was Hatty who kept away from me herself, but I am beginning to think now that somebody else is doing it. I do not trust that young Mr Crossland, not one bit. Yet, why he should wish to keep us apart, I cannot even imagine.
I do think she gets more and more limp and unstarched as time goes on. "Is she better?" "What is the matter with her?" Amelia's eyes betrayed no artifice. "A catarrh, I understand." "Oh, you heard that from Miss Newton. The Newtons asked her for an assembly, and Mrs Crossland did not want to give up my Lady Milworth, so she sent word Hatty had a catarrh, I believe. It is all nonsense."
Before she could answer, Mrs Crossland sailed in, all over rose-coloured ribbons. "Why, Miss Caroline, what an unexpected pleasure!" said she, and if she had added "an unwelcome one," I fancy she would have spoken the truth. "Dear, what was Cicely thinking of to put you in this cold room? Pray come up-stairs to the fire." "Thank you," said I, and rose to follow her.
Madam," he turned to Mrs Crossland, "I am sure there is no necessity for me to recall the penal laws to your mind. So long as these young ladies are left undisturbed in my care, in any way, so long, Madam, they will not be put in force against you. You understand me, I feel sure. Now, girls, let us go."
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