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Or perhaps there are four degrees; humble, umble, stumble, tumble; and then, when one is absolutely in the dirt at their feet, perhaps these big people won't wish one to stoop any further." "Oh, Mary!" "And, oh, Trichy! you don't mean to say I mayn't speak out before you. There, perhaps you'd like to put your foot on my neck."
"But why should you try to make my cousin angry; you that ought to have so much sense? Don't you remember what you were saying yourself the other day, of the absurdity of combatting pretences which the world sanctions?" "I do, Trichy, I do; don't scold me now. It is so much easier to preach than to practise. I do so wish I was a clergyman." "But you have done so much harm, Mary."
"It's a pity that the 'Trichy' is such a poisonous beast," he remarked, taking up one of the cheroots and sniffing at it delicately. "There is no other cigar like it, to a really abandoned smoker." He laid the cigar back in the box and continued: "I think I shall treat myself to one after dinner to celebrate the occasion." "What occasion?" I asked. "The completion of the Blackmore case.
Say what you like to me yourself; whatever you say will not anger me. Indeed, I know what you would say and yet I love you. Oh, I love you, Trichy Trichy, I do love you so much! Don't turn away from me!" There was such a mixture in Mary's manner of tenderness and almost ferocity, that poor Beatrice could hardly follow her. "Turn away from you, Mary! no never; but this does make me unhappy."
"I know you're clever, Mary; but still I think you're a fool. I do, indeed." "I am a fool, Trichy, I do confess it; and am not a bit clever; but don't scold me; you see how humble I am; not only humble but umble, which I look upon to be the comparative, or, indeed, superlative degree.
And then she put her head down to the footstool and kissed Beatrice's feet. "I'd like, if I dared, to put my hand on your cheek and give you a good slap for being such a goose." "Do; do, Trichy: you shall tread on me, or slap me, or kiss me; whichever you like." "I can't tell you how vexed I am," said Beatrice; "I wanted to arrange something." "Arrange something! What? arrange what?
"Yes, Trichy; but it is impossible, is it not? Impossible that Francis Gresham of Greshamsbury should disgrace himself by marrying such a poor creature as I am. Of course, I know it; of course, I am prepared for unhappiness and misery. He can amuse himself as he likes with me or others with anybody. It is his privilege. It is quite enough to say that he is not made for settling down.
"No, Trichy; I won't be Augusta's bridesmaid; I'll bide my time for bridesmaiding." What protestations Beatrice made against the probability of such an event as foreshadowed in her friend's promise we will not repeat. The afternoon was advancing, and the ladies also had to dress for dinner, to do honour to the young heir. Frank Gresham's First Speech
If you could have your way I should be admitted into heaven again; shouldn't I? Only with this proviso, that if a stray angel should ever whisper to me with bated breath, mistaking me, perchance, for one of his own class, I should be bound to close my ears to his whispering, and remind him humbly that I was only a poor mortal. You would trust me so far, wouldn't you, Trichy?"
But though the clergyman tells you so, he is not the less anxious to be rich himself." "I particularly wish you to be one of Augusta's bridesmaids." "And I particularly wish to decline the honour; which honour has not been, and will not be, offered to me. No, Trichy. I will not be Augusta's bridesmaid, but but but " "But what, dearest?"
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