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Updated: May 11, 2025
A keener, that is, a more interested eye than hers, might have discovered traces of suffering in the forms of the wrinkles which, as he talked, would now and then flit like ripples over his forehead; but Helen's eyes seldom did more than slip over the faces presented to her; and had it been otherwise, who could be expected to pay much regard to Thomas Wingfold when George Bascombe was present?
So, the day being wonderfully fine, Bascombe proposed to his cousin a walk in the park, the close-paling of which, with a small door in it, whereto Mrs. Ramshorn had the privilege of a key, was visible on the other side of the meadow. The two keys had but to be fetched from the house, and in a few minutes they were in the park.
"Because, if, as you think, there is more evil in store for her, I may yet have it in my power to do her some service. I wonder if Mr. Polwarth would call that DIVINE SERVICE," he added, with one of his sunny smiles. "Indeed he would," answered the curate. George Bascombe, when he went to Paris, had no thought of deserting Helen.
Bascombe will be more useful to you than me, then take her. But I'll say here and now, please, that if you be going to marry, I shall leave Wych Elm for good and all, because I couldn't endure for another woman to be over me and closer to your interests than what I am. Never, never could I endure it. Is that quite clear?" He looked at her and filled his tobacco pipe while he done so.
"He had been reading Heine," said Wingfold. "And burlesquing him," returned Bascombe. "Fancy hearing one of the fellow's heart-strings crack, and taking it for a string of his fiddle in the press! By the way, what are the heart-strings? Have they any anatomical synonym? But I have no doubt it was good poetry."
George's, Hanover Square, or its American equivalent, Trinity Church, New York, stamped on the mental retina. Miss Bascombe was "very nice" to him, he told himself, but she was quite as nice to a dozen other men. She was uniformly kind, courteous, agreeable, to every one who came to the house. Her cordiality to him meant nothing whatever.
I can't blame you, for neither did I once. But just wait till you have made one, George!" "God forbid!" exclaimed Bascombe, a second time forgetting himself. "Amen!" said Leopold: "for after that there's no help but be one yourself, you know." "If he would only talk like that to old Hooker!" thought George. "It would go a long way to forestall any possible misconception of the case."
And until slow Death arrive, what loving heart can bear the load that stupid Chance or still more stupid Fate has heaped upon it? Yet had I rather be crushed beneath the weight of mine, and die with my friends in the moaning of eternal farewells, than live like George Bascombe to carry lightly his little bag of content.
True, he attended to his duties; not merely "did church," but his endeavour also that all things should be done decently and in order. All the same it remained a fact that if Barrister Bascombe were to stand up and assert in full congregation as no doubt he was perfectly prepared to do that there was no God anywhere in the universe, the Rev.
"It would have been a song after Horace's own heart." "Don't you think," rejoined the curate, "the defiant tone of your song would have been strange to him? I confess that what I find chiefly attractive in Horace is his sad submission to the inevitable." "Sad?" echoed Bascombe. "Don't you think so?" "No. He makes the best of it, and as merrily as he can." "AS HE CAN, I grant you," said Wingfold.
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