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Elizabeth was very contrite. "It was dreadfully careless of me," she confessed; "I meant to have sent you a note last night, but some one called who was it, Dinah? and put it out of my head." But Dinah could not recollect that any one had called except David Carlyon, and seemed rather surprised at the question. "Oh, it must have been Mr. Carlyon," returned Elizabeth; but she coloured slightly.
I heah Aunt Dinah say dat, an' dat he might'ly sot on he ole servants, spressaly on Ephum deddy, whar named Little Ephum, an' whar used to wait on him. Dis mus' 'a' been a gret place dem days, 'cordin' to what dee say."
The year 1857, which saw Guy Livingstone, saw a book as different as possible in ideal, but also one of no common merit, in John Halifax, Gentleman. The author of this was Dinah Maria Mulock, who afterwards became Mrs. Craik. She was born at Stoke-upon-Trent in 1826, and had written for nearly ten years when John Halifax appeared.
But I don't know I don't know." He uttered a deep sigh, and leaned once more upon the balustrade. Dinah came close to him, her sweet face full of concern. "Mr. Studley," she murmured, "you you don't think I do her any harm, do you?" "You!" He gave a start and looked at her with that in his eyes that reassured her in a moment. "My dear child, no!
Then when you have forgotten the impression of Paris brilliancy, and see us in our own sphere, you pay court to us, if only as a pastime. And you, who are famous for your past passions, will be the object of attentions which will flatter you. Then take care!" cried Dinah, with a coquettish gesture, raising herself above provincial absurdities and Lousteau's irony by her own sarcastic speech.
"It probably did him good even if it did hurt. But I think you are right. If Isabel has the smallest wish to see him, he must come. I will see what I can do." Dinah gave him a difficult smile. "You always put things right," she said. He lifted his shoulders with a whimsical expression. "The magnifying-glass again!" he said. "No," she protested. "No. I see you as you are."
The women rejoiced in being able to pity her who had so long oppressed them; never had Dinah seemed to stand higher in the eyes of the neighborhood. The shriveled old man, more wrinkled, yellower, feebler than ever, gave no sign; but Dinah sometimes detected in his eyes, as he looked at her, a sort of icy venom which gave the lie to his increased politeness and gentleness.
"Why were you awake, darling? Aren't you happy?" Quick anxiety was in the words. Dinah flushed with a sense of guilt. "Of course I am happy," she made answer. "What more could I have to wish for? But, Isabel, you you!" "Ah, never mind me!" Isabel said. She rose with the movement of one who would shield another from harm. "You ought to be in bed, sweetheart. Shall I come and tuck you up?"
"Don't you hear him?" asked Flossie, who was so excited she did not know what to do. "Don't you hear him, Dinah?" "Yes, I heahs him all right," replied the colored cook, "but I can't see him, honey lamb." "He's under the snow! In the snow house!" Flossie went on. "The roof fell on him because Snap jumped on it when I came in here to get the cookies. Oh, Dinah, will you help get him out?"
"Dinah gave me a cookie, an' she says she'll give you one, too, if you want it, Flossie," announced Freddie, coming into the room then, munching a sweet cake. "Course I want it!" exclaimed the little "fat fairy," as her father called her, and she slipped out of her mother's lap, where she had climbed after Freddie got down, and, like her brother, hurried to the kitchen.
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