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"I'll stop in a minute. There; I'm stopping now. For Heaven's sake, stop patting me on the head!" "Please don't be so decent to me," entreated T. A. Junior, his fine eyes more luminous than ever." If only you'd try to get back at me I wouldn't feel so cut up about it." Emma McChesney looked up at him, a smile shining radiantly through the tears. "Very well. I'll do it.
Shafto, if you don't mind, I believe I will have another piece of deer," said Hippy. "Yer wife stepped in it," replied Joe. "It's all in the family," observed Hippy, holding out his plate. One by one the Overlanders returned to the table, with the exception of Emma, whose appetite had left her, but Hippy had the rest of the venison all to himself.
"How could Miss West be so spiteful?" asked Grace vexedly. "Where do you suppose she heard the news, and who told her? You don't suppose " Grace stopped abruptly. A sudden suspicion had seized her. "Don't suppose what?" interrogated Emma sharply. "Nothing," finished Grace shortly. "Yes, you do suppose something," declared Emma. "I know just what you are thinking.
This was so very well understood between them, that Emma could not but feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go together; and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she had no objection.
After writing deliberately to her friend Emma, she laid down her pen and thought of nothing; and into this dreamfulness a wine passed, filling her veins, suffusing her mind, quickening her soul: and coming whence? out of air, out of the yonder of air.
With an impetuous eagerness unlike herself, she went on. "Sally, you must not blame John. He has struggled as constantly and nobly as a man ever struggled. Neither must you blame Emma. They have neither of them done wrong. I have watched them both hour by hour. I know my husband's nature so thoroughly that I know his very thoughts almost as soon as he knows them himself.
Stop now and then and take your time in making observations. You can catch up with us without straining the pony, I reckon," grinned the guide. "Don't we stop for breakfast soon?" begged Emma. "Tighten your belt," answered the guide. "It may be some hours before we can settle down for rest and food." Emma groaned dismally, and Hippy looked serious.
A shadow across the still features told her of another's presence. Starting back, she saw a lady from whose pale, beautiful face a veil had just been raised. The stranger, who was regarding her with tenderly compassionate eyes, said: 'I am Mrs. Mutimer. Emma rose to her feet and drew a little apart. Her face fell.
"Not quite," returned Emma, with forced calmness, "for all that you then said, appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost assert that you had named Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the gipsies, was spoken of." "Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!"
When the print was shown to the scheming Harwood over the afternoon vermouth, he suspended a long discourse on the contemptible fate of being born an Anglo-Saxon, and it came over him with a blessed shock that Emma had the missing St. Michael. Penetrated by the joy of the situation, he hesitated for a moment whether to give the initiative to the man or the woman.
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