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Had he been there ten minutes sooner, he would have seen Mary Lowther tripping down the side path to meet her lover. He rang the bell, and in a few minutes found himself in Miss Marrable's drawing-room. He had asked for Miss Marrable, had given his name, and had been shown upstairs. There he remained alone for a few minutes which seemed to him to be interminable.
Marrable's sister did not die without knowing at least, I mean ... I mean she has not died.... She may ..." She was stopped by the danger of inexplicable tears, in time as she thought. But old Mrs. Prichard, always on the alert for her Guardian Angel, caught the slight modulation of her voice, and was alive with ready sympathy.
He went to Chippenham and Swindon, and then by the train to Loring. He had no very definite plan formed for himself. He rather thought that he would call at Miss Marrable's house, call if possible when Mary Lowther was not there, and learn from the elder lady something of the facts of the case.
Thrale ever told you her mother's name I mean her aunt's Granny Marrable's?" "Her christened name? her own name?" "Yes!" "No!" "Shall I tell it you?" "Why not?... Oh, I am frightened to see you so white. My dear!" "Listen, dear Mrs. Picture, and try to understand. Mrs. Thrale's aunt's name is Phoebe." "Is Phoebe!" "Is Phoebe."
And this on Miss Marrable's own birthday! and this in her father's house! and this after the unutterable sacrifices of six weeks past! Of all the domestic disasters which the thankless theatrical enterprise had inflicted on the Marrable family, the crowning misfortune was now consummated by Magdalen's success. Leaving Mr.
Of course, Gwen was alive to the fact that it would be bad religious form to suggest that this contingency was not covered by some special arrangement. But put it as an hypothesis, like the lady she had ascribed Adrian's ring to! She could hear Granny Marrable's voice and Elizabeth's afar, in conference. That was satisfactory.
There's naught to complain of in my hearing, yet a while." Granny Marrable's conscience stung her yet again about Mrs. Picture's departure unrefreshed. "I would have been the happier for knowing that that old soul was none the worse," said she. But all the answer she got was: "Be quiet, mother, you'll wake up Toby."
Now Walter Marrable's countenance was of a very different die. He had served in India, and the naturally dark colour of his face had thus become very swarthy. His black hair curled round his head, but the curls on his brow were becoming very thin, as though age were already telling on them, and yet he was four or five years younger than Mr. Gilmore.
It's no use your looking amused, because that doesn't do any good." After which little preliminary skirmish she came to the point, speaking to Gwen in a half-aside, as to a fellow-citizen in contradistinction to an outcast, her father. "Why should not your old woman be put up at Mrs. Marrable's? They do this sort of thing there. However, perhaps Mrs. Marrable is full up."
Miss Marrable, after waiting for half a minute to consider, determined that she would tell him something. "No doubt," she said, "Captain Marrable's income is so small that the match is one that Mary's friends cannot approve." "I don't think much of money," he said. "Still it is essential to comfort, Mr. Gilmore."
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