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Updated: May 9, 2025
I cannot learn by what process it came about, but I am assured by Cecily, in words of becoming vagueness, that they plighted troth, or some thing of the kind, yesterday at Pompeii. There was a party of four: Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw, Cecily, and Mrs. Baske.
Her aunt put no further question; but after dinner sought Mrs. Bradshaw, and had a little talk on the subject. Mrs. Bradshaw allowed herself no conjectures; in her plain way she merely confirmed what Cecily had said, adding that Elgar had taken leave of them at the railway-station. "Possibly Mrs. Baske knew that her brother would be there?" surmised Mrs.
"I shall meet your brother again at Pompeii to-morrow, Mrs. Baske." "Have you seen much of him since he came!" Miriam asked constrainedly. She had not met Mallard since Reuben's arrival. "Oh yes. We have dined together each evening." Between two such unloquacious persons, dialogue was naturally slow at first, but they had a long drive before them. Miriam presently trusted herself to ask,
Save for these intervals, she wrote with quick decision, in a large clear hand, never underlining, but frequently supplying the emphasis of heavy stroke in her penning of a word. At the end of her letters came a signature excellent in individuality: "Miriam Baske." The furniture of her room was modern, and of the kind demanded by wealthy forestieri in the lodgings they condescend to occupy.
Baske," he called after her. She turned back and took them up. "By-the-bye," he said, looking at his watch, "it is the hour at which ladies are accustomed to drink tea. Will you let me make you a cup before you go?" "Thank you. Perhaps I could save your time by making it myself." "A capital idea. Look, there is all the apparatus. Please to tell me when it is ready, and I'll have a cup with you."
Mallard spoke little; he had clasped his hands behind his head, and listened musingly. There was no effusion in the leave-taking, though it might be for a long time. Warm clasping of hands, but little said. "A good-bye for me to Mrs. Baske," was Mallard's last word. And his haggard but composed face turned from Villa Sannazaro.
Had you rather she were co=operating with Mrs. Baske in a scheme to rebuild all the chapels in Lancashire?" "There is a medium." "Why, yes. A neither this nor that, an insipid refinement, a taste for culture moderated by reverence for Mrs. Grundy." "Perhaps you are right. It's only occasionally that I am troubled in this way. But I heartily wish the three years remaining were over."
It isn't as though we were dealing with a woman whose mind is hopelessly immatured; she is only a girl still, and I know she has brains if she could be induced to use them." "Mrs. Baske has a remarkable face, it seems to me," said Mallard. "It enrages me to talk of the matter."
This occasion soon presented itself, and Cecily passed into the care of Doran's sister, Mrs. Lessingham, who was just entered upon a happy widowhood. Mallard, most unexpectedly left sole trustee, had no choice but to assent to this arrangement; the only other home possible for the girl was with Miriam at Redbeck House, but Mr. Baske did not look with favour on that proposal. Hitherto, Mr.
I hare come because you asked me." "To be sure. Can you sew, Mrs. Baske?" She looked at him in confusion, half indignant. "Yes, I can sew." "I hardly like to ask you, but would you mend this for me? It's the case in which I keep a large volume of engravings; the seams are coming undone, you see." He took up the article in question, which was of glazed cloth, and held it to her.
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