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Updated: June 2, 2025
Goodenough's words had given rise; as if she could never be the first to suggest the notion of impropriety, which presupposed what she blushed to think of. Then she tried to comfort herself by reasoning. If it had been wrong, forward, or indelicate, really improper in the slightest degree, who would have been so ready as her father to put his veto upon it? But reasoning was of no use after Mrs.
A few minutes sufficed to make the necessary preparations; and in less than half an hour we found ourselves occupying comfortable apartments in Goodenough's hotel, and our passage taken in the stage for the following morning. The transition was like a dream.
Goodenough's words troubling her maiden modesty? How could she ever repeat what his father had said that morning, and assure him that she, no more than he, wished that their old friendliness should be troubled by the thought of a nearer relationship? 'No, you never vexed me in my whole life, Roger, said she, looking straight at him for the first time for many days.
Only she suddenly let go the stretch of restraint she was living in, when one evening her father told her that he was really anxious about Mrs Gibson's cough, and should like Molly to give up a party at Mrs Goodenough's, to which they were all three invited, but to Which Molly alone was going.
The lady in her turn is astonished, for the tall person breaks out into a grin, and says, "Law, mum, you're speakin' of Master Charles. He's in London." "Indeed! of Master Charles?" "And you take me for missis, mum. I beg your pardon, mum," cries Hannah. The invalid hits his sister in the side with a weak little fist. If laughter can cure, salva est res. Doctor Goodenough's patient is safe.
Goodenough's wanted improvement, but would pay richly for any that should be judiciously made; Wright's farm was by far the worst of the three; and Marvel's the best. The Lincolnshire world was much divided in opinion concerning these young men; and many bets were laid relating to the legacy.
Hearing a week afterwards that the king was sending down a messenger to Cape Coast, Frank asked permission to send Mr. Goodenough's letter by him. The king sent for him. "I do not wish any more troubles," he said, "or that letters should be sent to the governor. You are my guest.
I have got a good supply, and as I never use it for trade unless a chief particularly wants it, I can very well spare it." The old negro was greatly pleased, and when he had drank his glass of brandy and water he responded to Mr. Goodenough's request, and, lighting a fresh cigar, he began the story of his adventures. "I was born in dis berry village somewhere about seventy years ago.
When I found myself safely in Goodenough's hotel, in a retired room, and began to think alone, the most gloomy apprehensions filled my mind. I could not eat, I had no appetite, and I did not sleep all night. Every painful scene that I ever passed through seemed to return to my mind; and such was my agitation, I could fix my thoughts upon nothing in particular.
Goodenough was now in his thirty-second year, and as he had always determined to marry precisely at this age, he began to look about for a wife. He chose a widow, said to be of a very close saving temper: she was neither young, handsome, nor agreeable; but then she was rich, and it was Goodenough's notion that the main chance should be first considered, in matrimony as in every thing else.
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