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They had hardly reached the top when a large lurid cloud, palpably a reservoir of rain, thunder, and lightning, was seen to be advancing overhead from the north. The two cautious elders suggested an immediate return, and proceeded to put it in practice as regarded themselves. 'Dear me, I wish I had not come up, exclaimed Mrs. Swancourt.
A very successful job a very fine job indeed. But he was a tough old fellow in spite of the crack. Here Mr. Swancourt wiped from his face the perspiration his excitement had caused him. 'Poor old tower! said Elfride. 'Yes, I am sorry for it, said Knight. 'It was an interesting piece of antiquity a local record of local art. 'Ah, but my dear sir, we shall have a new one, expostulated Mr.
'You, Miss Swancourt, would not, under such circumstances, have preferred the nicknacks? 'No, I don't think I should, indeed, she stammered. 'I'll put it to you, said the inflexible Knight.
Is my family name and house to be disgraced by acts that would be a scandal to a washerwoman's daughter? Come along, madam; come! 'She is so weary! said Knight, in a voice of intensest anguish. 'Mr. Swancourt, don't be harsh with her let me beg of you to be tender with her, and love her! 'To you, sir, said Mr.
'And he will come and see me, and find the authoress as contemptible in speech as she has been impertinent in manner. I do heartily wish I had never written a word to him! 'Never mind, said Mrs. Swancourt, also laughing in low quiet jerks; 'it will make the meeting such a comical affair, and afford splendid by-play for your father and myself.
Usage soon rendered this perfectly natural to herself. Her father, who had had other experiences, did not much like the idea of a Swancourt, whose pedigree could be as distinctly traced as a thread in a skein of silk, scampering over the hills like a farmer's daughter, even though he could habitually neglect her.
But not much, because papa doesn't like my going alone. 'You must have somebody to look after you. 'And I read, and write a little. 'You should write a novel. The regular resource of people who don't go enough into the world to live a novel is to write one. 'I have done it, said Elfride, looking dubiously at Mrs. Swancourt, as if in doubt whether she would meet with ridicule there.
If my constitution were not well seasoned, as thank God it is, here Mr. Swancourt looked down his front, as if his constitution were visible there, 'I should be coughing and barking all the year round. And when the family goes away, there are only about three servants to preach to when I get there. Well, that shall be the arrangement, then. Elfride, you will like to go?
But unfortunately it had a reverse effect upon the vicar, who, after turning a sort of apricot jam colour, interspersed with dashes of raspberry, pleaded indisposition, and vanished from their sight. The afternoon wore on. Mrs. Swancourt kindly sat apart by herself reading, and the betrothed pair were left to themselves.
We shall be among fresh people, and in a larger house, and shall keep ourselves up a bit, I hope. 'Is Miss Swancourt at home, do you know? Stephen inquired 'Yes, your father saw her this morning. 'Do you often see her? 'Scarcely ever. Mr. Glim, the curate, calls occasionally, but the Swancourts don't come into the village now any more than to drive through it.
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