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Mr. Rush-Marvelle, but why describe this gentleman at all? He was a mere nonentity known simply as the husband of Mrs. Rush-Marvelle. He knew he was nobody and, unlike many men placed in a similar position, he was satisfied with his lot.
"It would be a kind of sacrilege. It is divine!" After this, many were the pleasant musical evenings they all passed together in the grand old library, and, as Mrs. Rush-Marvelle had so indignantly told her husband, no visitors were invited to the Manor during that winter.
"Well, my dear?" he inquired, with a furtive and anxious glance at his wife. "I suppose er it er it was to be expected?" "No, it was not to be expected," said Mrs. Rush-Marvelle, rearing her head, and heaving her ample bosom to and fro in rather a tumultuous manner. "Of course it was to be expected that Bruce-Errington would behave like a fool his father was a fool before him.
This young scapegrace," here he caressed his son's clustering curls tenderly "has not yet done with his lessons the idea of the circus to-day seems to have turned his head." "Papa, you promised you'd let me off Virgil this morning!" cried Ernest, slipping his arm coaxingly through his father's. Lord Winsleigh smiled. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle shook her head with a sort of mild reproachfulness.
Van Clupp laid her plump, diamond-ringed hand on that of her dear friend, Mrs. Marvelle. "You have managed the whole thing beautifully," she said, with a grateful heave of her ample bosom. "Such a clever creature as you are!" She dropped her voice to a mysterious whisper. "You shall have that cheque to-morrow, my love!" Mrs. Rush-Marvelle pressed her fingers cordially.
Rush-Marvelle, far-sighted as she generally was, often sighed doubtfully and rubbed her nose in perplexity as she confessed she "couldn't quite understand Clara." But Mrs.
People began to notice her deepening seriousness and the wistful melancholy of her blue eyes, and made their remarks thereon when they saw her at Marcia Van Clupp's wedding, an event which came off brilliantly at the commencement of November, and which was almost entirely presided over by Mrs. Rush-Marvelle.
Rush-Marvelle pocketed the douceur quite gracefully, and did her best for the girl.
Rush-Marvelle is here too, in all her glory, her good-humored countenance and small nose together beam with satisfaction, her voluminous train of black satin showered with jet gets in everybody's way, her ample bosom heaves like the billowy sea, somewhat above the boundary line of transparent lace that would fain restrain it but in this particular she is prudence itself compared with her hostess, whose charms are exhibited with the unblushing frankness of a ballet-girl, and whose example is followed, it must be confessed, by most of the women in the room.
I shall call on Lady Bruce-Errington" here she smiled scornfully "this afternoon and to-morrow I shall send them their invitations. My only fear is whether they mayn't refuse to come. I would not miss the chance for the world! I want my house to be the first in which her peasant-ladyship distinguishes herself by her blunders!" "I'm afraid it'll be quite a scandal!" sighed Mrs. Rush-Marvelle.
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