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Updated: June 11, 2025
But that the daughter of comfortable parents, surrounded by love and the pleasures of an excellent home, should wish to teach in a school was beyond the horizons of Mrs. Baines's common sense. Comfortable parents of to-day who have a difficulty in sympathizing with Mrs. Baines, should picture what their feelings would be if their Sophias showed a rude desire to adopt the vocation of chauffeur.
I can remember his books quite clearly, even at this distance of time. One was a biography of William IV., another a set of sketches of Reform Ministers, a third was Baines's "History of Lancashire," a fourth a Geographical Dictionary. His bookcase did not contain a single volume by the most popular English poets of his own time, nor even so much as a novel by Sir Walter Scott.
The others had cold pork, half a cold apple-pie, and cheese; but Sophia only pretended to eat; each time she tried to swallow, the tears came into her eyes, and her throat shut itself up. Mrs. Baines and Constance had a too careful air of eating just as usual. Mrs. Baines's handsome ringlets dominated the table under the gas. "I'm not so set up with my pastry to-day," observed Mrs.
It is true that the tailoring department flourished with orders, employing several tailors who crossed legs in their own homes, and that appointments were continually being made with customers for trying-on in that room. But these considerations did not affect Mrs. Baines's attitude of disapproval. "I'm just cutting out that suit for the minister," said Mr. Povey. The Reverend Mr.
And though John Baines had been bedridden for a dozen years, he still lived on the lips of admiring, ceremonious burgesses as 'our honoured fellow-townsman. He deserved his reputation. The Baines's shop, to make which three dwellings had at intervals been thrown into one, lay at the bottom of the Square.
"Is that my little Sophia?" asked a faint voice from the depths of the bedroom. "Yes, father," said Sophia. But she did not attempt to enter the room. Mr. Critchlow put the tray on a white-clad chest of drawers near the door, and then he shut the door, with no ceremony. Mr. Critchlow was John Baines's oldest and closest friend, though decidedly younger than the draper.
I can't ever go back to the store to-morrow to have everybody staring at me and talking about me.... I want to go away to-night." "You sha'n't. Nor no other time, neither." And then, out of the darkness behind, spoke Scattergood Baines's voice.
Critchlow, in fierce sarcasm, as he recognized Mrs. Baines's voice. Sophia leaped towards the door, as though to bar her mother's entrance. But Mrs. Baines was already opening the door. "Well, my pet " she was beginning cheerfully. Mr. Critchlow confronted her. And he had no more pity for the wife than for the daughter.
Up the Square, from the corner of King Street, passed a woman in a new bonnet with pink strings, and a new blue dress that sloped at the shoulders and grew to a vast circumference at the hem. Within them, somewhere, was the soul of Maggie, domestic servant at Baines's. Maggie had been at the shop since before the creation of Constance and Sophia.
Baines's voice sounded at the head of the stairs: 'Miss Beechinor, will ye kindly step up? We shall want some asseestance. She obeyed, but not instantly. In the bedroom Mr. Baines, a fountain-pen between his fine white teeth, was putting some coal on the fire. He stood up as she entered. 'Mr.
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