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Updated: June 2, 2025
He, too, had to be emancipated, as much as Argemone, from selfish dreams; to learn to work trustfully in the living Present, not to gloat sentimentally over the unreturning Past.
She did not answer him, but kept her face buried in her hands. 'Again, I say, Argemone, will you fight against Fate Providence God call it what you will? Who made us meet at the chapel? Who made me, by my accident, a guest in your father's house! Who put it into your heart to care for my poor soul? Who gave us this strange attraction towards each other, in spite of our unlikeness?
How shocking if old Giles, the butler, should turn Papist! 'Honoria, you are very silly. Lord Vieuxbois, at least can be trusted. He has no liking for low companions. HE is above joking with grooms, and taking country walks with gamekeepers. It was lucky that it was dark, for Honoria and Argemone both blushed crimson. 'Your poor father's mind has been quite unsettled by all their ribaldry.
The colonel, as usual, solved the problem. 'Your dog-cart will carry four, Smith? 'It will. 'Then let the ladies get in, and Mr. Lavington drive them home. 'What? said the squire, 'with both my hands red-hot with the gout? You must drive three of us, colonel, and one of us must walk. 'I will walk, said Argemone, in her determined way. Mrs.
She forgot, poor earnest soul, that the same form of religion which had captivated a disappointed girl of twenty, might not be the most attractive one for a jovial old man of sixty. Argemone, who a fortnight before would have chimed in with all her mother's lamentations, now felt a little nettled and jealous. She could not bear to hear Lancelot classed with the colonel.
And the glimpse of that which he had attained seemed to have passed away from him again, seemed to be something which, as it had arisen with Argemone, was lost with her also, one speck of the far blue sky which the rolling clouds had covered in again.
But it was extraordinary that Mrs. Lavington had cast off her usual primness, and seemed to-night, for the first time in her life, in an exuberant good humour, which she evinced by snubbing her usual favourite Honoria, and lavishing caresses on Argemone, whose vagaries she usually regarded with a sort of puzzled terror, like a hen who has hatched a duckling. 'Honoria, take your feet off my dress.
Sweet dreams blessed dreams! His eye met Honoria's. One big deep sigh swelled to his lips and burst. She seemed to recollect herself, rose, passed her arm through Argemone's, and walked slowly away. Argemone, sweet prude, thought herself bound to read Honoria a lecture that night, on her reckless exhibition of feeling; but it profited little.
The colonel leapt the bridge-rail like a deer, rushed out along the buck-stage, tore off his coat, and sprung headlong into the boiling pool, 'rejoicing in his might, as old Homer would say. Lancelot, forgetting his crutches, was dashing after him, when he felt a soft hand clutching at his arm. 'Lancelot! Mr. Smith! cried Argemone. 'You shall not go! You are too ill weak
Argemone looked almost angrily round at her beloved books and drawings; for they spoke a message to her which they had never spoken before, of self-centred ambition. 'Yes, she said aloud to herself, 'I have been selfish, utterly!
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