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Updated: June 11, 2025
He possessed not a little of the persuasive genius which goes to make an orator hereafter to serve him in fields as yet undreamed of and natural endowment guided his feeling in the way of most impressive utterance. Mr. Athel smiled in spite of himself. 'And what about your aunt? he asked. 'Pray remember that it is only by chance that Miss Hood lives under my roof.
'Oh, we'll have that this afternoon; you may talk of it now, and I shall relish it in anticipation. Or, better still, sit down and tell us old stories about Egypt, and let us forget the age we live in. 'What is amiss with the age? inquired Mr. Athel, who stood smoking a cigar and was in his wonted state of satisfaction with himself and the universe. 'Everything is amiss.
They were uttered, however, and he was glad of it. A purpose thus formulated he would not swerve from. Of that his father too was well aware. Mr. Athel rose from his seat, held the rolled-up magazine in both hands behind his back, and took a turn across a few yards of lawn. Wilfrid sat still, leaning forward, watching his father's shadow. The shadow approached him. 'Wilf, is there no via media?
Luke's, and then we found he'd been staying with the Baxendales all through Emily's illness. 'How did you find it out? You don't know the Baxendales. 'No, but Mrs. Gadd does, and she told us. 'What's his name? 'Mr. Athel a queer name, isn't it? Dagworthy was silent. 'Now you're cross with me, Jessie exclaimed.
Athel who at that time represented parental authority, or at all events claimed filial deference, was anything but pleased with the step his son had taken; he was a highly respectable dealer in grain, and, after the manner of highly respectable men of commerce, would have had his eldest son espouse some countrywoman yet more respectable.
Athel brought him to London, and the family went down at once to their house in Surrey. Wilfrid was an only son and an only child. His father had been a widower for nearly ten years; for the last three his house had been directed by a widowed sister, Mrs. Rossall, who had twin girls. Mr.
Richard, or 'Miss Athel'; and, if I inquired further, her face would light up with a beam of gratitude, and she would run on, as long as I could listen, with instances of their kindness.
Things she would formerly have understood at a half-word she now affected to need to have explained to her. He was 'Mr. Athel' to an extent he had never been before; and even of his relatives she spoke with a diminished familiarity.
Ashley Birks was paralysed with horror; she implored, she reasoned, she put on her face of cold anger. Mr. Athel cried 'What the deuce! and forthwith held a serious colloquy with his son. Wilfrid experienced a certain joy, only tempered with anxiety as to the result of the experiment.
You can't think, she added, with only apparent irrelevance, 'how often I have recalled your beautiful singing; I have always thought of you with gratitude for that deep pleasure you gave me. 'O, you shall hear me sing again! laughed Beatrice. 'Ask Mr. Athel to tell you something about that. Indeed, it must be good-bye.
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