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Updated: May 9, 2025
Consent given, Mary lost no time in throwing on a hat and jacket, while Squire Chelwood's tall horse fretted and caught impatiently at his bit: then she was lifted up to Jackie on the back seat, and they were soon rolling quickly on their way. It was good of Jackie to have asked for her to go, Mary thought, after she had been so cross.
She managed to answer them all somehow, but with so much less spirit than usual that it was plain to see something was wrong. Jackie made up his mind to ask her afterwards, and meanwhile Fraulein interfered. "You shall not tease any more with your questions," she said. "Mary is fatigue." But the questions had reminded Mary of something which till now she had forgotten Squire Chelwood's danger.
Mr Vallance was not so fond of children as his wife, and did not altogether regret that he had none of his own. His experience of them, drawn from Squire Chelwood's family who lived a little further up the valley, did not lead him to think that they added to the comfort of a household.
No one could be quicker than Mary to see them, to give her little neck a prouder turn, and to toss back her glittering hair self-consciously. So she knew by the time she was nine years old that she had beautiful hair and lovely eyes, and a skin like milk that she walked gracefully, and that her feet and hands were smaller and prettier than Agatha Chelwood's.
The roses still flourished in the vicarage garden under Mr Vallance's loving care, and he still thought them much finer than Chelwood's. At the White House there were now three children in the nursery and four in the school-room, of whom the eldest was a girl of ten named Agatha.
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