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Updated: June 15, 2025
On the way home, after the tea-party was over, Christopher remarked: "Old Mother Bateson isn't a bad sort; but I can't stand Mother Hankey." "Why not?" "She says such horrid things." He had not yet forgiven Mrs. Hankey for her gloomy prophecies respecting Elisabeth. "Not horrid, Chris.
"And as for her looking dissatisfied and all that," continued Mrs. Bateson, "I for one can't see it. But if she did, it was all a pack of rubbish. What had she to grumble at, I should like to know, with a satin gown on at five-and-six a yard?" By this time Alan had moved on to another picture. "This represents an unhappy marriage," he explained.
I can see how its pathos might appeal to those whose health was spoiled and whose physique was stunted by poverty and misery; but it puzzles me to find a magnificent giant such as Bateson, a man too strong to have nerves and too healthy to have delusions, as thoroughly imbued with its traditions as any one. I fail to understand the secret of its power."
Mrs. Bateson sighed at the gloomy prospect opening out before young Mrs. Wilkins; then she asked: "How did the last daughter's wedding go off? She married a Methodist, surely?" "She did, Mrs. Bateson; and a better match no mother could wish for her daughter, not even a duchess born; he's a chapel-steward and a master-painter, and has six men under him.
Bateson shook her head in violent disapproval. Mrs. Hankey now joined in. "I remember my sister Sarah, when she was a girl. There was a man wanted her ever so, and seemed as cut-up as never was when she said no. She didn't know what to do with him, he was that miserable; and yet she couldn't bring her mind to have him, because he'd red hair and seven in family, being a widower.
When they were all ready for baking, Bateson says to me, 'Kezia, he says, 'them pies is a regular picture all so smooth and even-like, you can't tell which from t'other. 'Bateson, said I, 'I've done my best with them; and if only the Lord will be with them in the oven, they'll be the best batch of pies this side Jordan." "And so they are," said Elisabeth; "they are perfectly lovely."
Bateson; it's often a wonder to me that the Lord has patience with men, seeing that their own wives haven't." "And to me, too. Now Bateson has been going on like this for thirty years or more; yet if there's roast pork on the table, and I say a word to put him off it, he's that hurt as never was.
And the hideous pain of the first week had now ceased; mortification had almost certainly set in, and all that could be done was to wait the slow and sure failure of the heart. The nurse took leave. Meynell was hanging up his hat in the little passageway, when the door of the front parlour opened, after being unlocked. Meynell looked round. "Good evening, Mrs. Bateson.
A rapid dialogue passed between them, the dialogue of experts, sharp, allusive, elliptical, in the midst of which the host gave the signal for joining the ladies. "Well, all I know is," said Bateson, as he got up, "that these kinds of questions, if you and your friends have your way, will wreck the Liberal party before long far more effectually than anything Irish has ever done.
"Well, let's hope that Miss Elisabeth will marry, and have a husband to work for her when Miss Farringdon is dead and gone." "Husbands are as uncertain as wills, Mrs. Bateson, and more sure to give offence to them that trust in them; besides, I doubt if Miss Elisabeth is handsome enough to get a husband. The gentry think a powerful lot of looks in choosing a wife." Mrs.
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