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If that were true, she had to acknowledge that there must be something fine about Arthur that she had not discovered. Maida guessed that the W.M.N.T.’s met three or four times a week. Certainly there were very busy doings at Dicky’s or at Arthur’s house every other day. What it was all about, Maida did not know.
But I think she regrets her misconduct, for she has never repeated it since, and of late she has comported herself with wonderful propriety towards him, treating him with more uniform kindness and consideration than ever I have observed her to do before. I date the time of this improvement from the period when she ceased to hope and strive for Arthur’s admiration.
It was not a lion that Arthur Pym felt crouching upon his chest, it was his own dog, Tiger, a young Newfoundland. At the moment of Arthur’s coming out of his swoon the faithful Tiger was licking his face and hands with lavish affection. Now the prisoner had a companion.
I did not raise my eyes, but I suppose mamma looked, for a clear melodious voice, whose tones thrilled through my nerves, exclaimed, ‘Oh, aunt! here’s Mr. Markham, Arthur’s friend! Stop, Richard!’ There was such evidence of joyous though suppressed excitement in the utterance of those few words—especially that tremulous, ‘Oh, aunt’—that it threw me almost off my guard.
Happily, there were none of Arthur’s ‘friends’ invited to Grassdale last autumn: he took himself off to visit some of them instead. I wish he would always do so, and I wish his friends were numerous and loving enough to keep him amongst them all the year round. Mr. Hargrave, considerably to my annoyance, did not go with him; but I think I have done with that gentleman at last.
It proved to be Magued himself, who had seen him leave the city and had followed in haste. To his sharp summons for surrender the good knight responded by drawing his sword, and, wounded and bleeding as he was, put himself in posture for defence. The fight that followed was as fierce as some of those told of King Arthur’s knights.
It may exist and flourish vigorously when there is little or no community of taste or of thought:— “It may be as well to say here that all the letters from my father to Arthur Hallam were destroyed by his father after Arthur’s death: a great loss, as these particular letters probably revealed his inner self more truly than anything outside his poems.”
The first time I saw him was on a sweet, warm evening, when I was sauntering in the park with little Arthur and Rachel, who is head-nurse and lady’s-maid in one—for, with my secluded life and tolerably active habits, I require but little attendance, and as she had nursed me and coveted to nurse my child, and was moreover so very trustworthy, I preferred committing the important charge to her, with a young nursery-maid under her directions, to engaging any one else: besides, it saves money; and since I have made acquaintance with Arthur’s affairs, I have learnt to regard that as no trifling recommendation; for, by my own desire, nearly the whole of the income of my fortune is devoted, for years to come, to the paying off of his debts, and the money he contrives to squander away in London is incomprehensible.
I was so fearful of this at first, that I humbled myself to intimate to him, in private, my apprehensions of Arthur’s proneness to these excesses, and to express a hope that he would not encourage it. He was pleased with this mark of confidence, and certainly did not betray it.
From the molding hung a fringe of hockey-sticks. Having arranged all Arthur’s things, the quartette filed upstairs to the closet where Dicky’s paper-work was kept. “Gracious, I didn’t realize there were so many,” Rosie said. “Sure, the lad has worked day and night,” Granny said, patting Dicky’s thin cheek. They filled Arthur’s baskets and trooped back to the shop.
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