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Elsmere only reflected that it would certainly be better to Say nothing of it to Robert until he should be at college.
Old historic situations, also, have come to life for me again in new surroundings, as in Lady Rose's Daughter, The Marriage of William Ashe, and Fenwick's Career; in Richard Meynell I attempted the vision of a Church of England recreated from within, with a rebel, and not as in Robert Elsmere an exile, for a hero; Lady Connie is a picture of Oxford as I saw her in my youth, as faithful as I can now make it; Eltham House is a return to the method of William Ashe, and both Lady Connie and Missing have been written since the war.
'Humph! he remarked; 'do you know this merryandrew, Elsmere? It was Newcome. As they passed, Robert with slightly heightened colour gave him an affectionate nod and smile. Newcome's quick eye ran over the companions, he responded stiffly, and his step grew more rapid. A week or two later Robert noticed with a little prick of remorse that he had seen nothing of Newcome for an age.
Elsmere and her old servant Martha as great an original as herself, was so irregular, their religious training so extraordinary, the clothes in which they were allowed to disport themselves so scandalous to the sober taste of the rector's wife, that Catherine involuntarily regarded the little cottage on the hill as a spot of misrule in the general order of the parish.
It was undeniable that the girls generally did well, and they invariably adored Mrs. Elsmere, but Catherine did not much like to think about them. Their household teaching under Mrs.
"She had just moved there from Elsmere Road, Hampstead. I went first to Hampstead. Lenora had been there and learnt her aunt's correct address in West Kensington. I followed on to West Kensington and found that her aunt was still awaiting her." A new interest seemed suddenly to have crept into Hardaway's manner.
She had a dim frenzied notion she should have to fight for her liberty when the call came, and she lay tense and rigid, waiting the images of insanity whirling through her brain, while the light slowly, slowly waned. Catherine opened the door into the kitchen. The two carriers were standing there, and Robert Elsmere also stood with his back to her, talking to them in an undertone.
Sir William Elsmere and his nephew's wife had not much in common, and rarely concerned themselves with each other. Mrs. Elsmere was an Irishwoman by birth, with irregular Irish ways, and a passion for strange garments, which made her the dread of the conventional English squire; and, after she left the vicarage with her son, she and her husband's uncle met no more.
But, just as she was launching into the plot a thought, apparently a scruple of conscience, struck her. 'Do you remember, she began, looking at him a little darkly, askance, 'what I said about my hobbies the other day? Now, Mr. Elsmere, will you tell me don't mind me don't be polite have you ever heard people tell stories of me? Have you ever, for instance, heard them call me a a tuft-hunter?
Little did Elsmere realize that never, in this life, would he see that smile or hear that voice again! In half an hour from the time Mr. Grey's door closed upon him, Elsmere had caught a convenient cross-country train, and had left the Oxford towers and spires, the shrunken summer Isis, and the flat, hot, river meadows far behind him. He had meant to stay at Merton, as we know, for the night.
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