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Updated: May 21, 2025
Gresley was not well enough to be told, and for many days Mr. Gresley and Hester and Doctor Brown held Regie forcibly back from the valley of the shadow, where, since the first cradle was rocked, the soft feet of children have cleft so sharp an entrance over the mother-hearts that vainly barred the way. Mr. Gresley's face grew as thin as Hester's as the days went by.
It was not surprising that on the following Sunday Mr. Gresley said such beautiful things about women being pillows against which weary masculine athletes could rest. "He spoke very nicely of you," went on Mr. Gresley at last. "He said he appreciated your goodness in letting Regie go after what had happened, and your offer to come and nurse Hester yourself. And then he spoke about me.
Mr. Gresley took up his pen, and then laid it down. "I will run through the story before I alter the name. It may not take the line I expect." It did not. The next page had two words on it: "TO RACHEL." What an extraordinary thing! Any one, be they who they might, would naturally have thought that if the book were dedicated to any one it would be to her only brother.
The service ended at last, and, after releasing his unwilling congregation by catching and carrying it, beak agape, into the open air, Mr. Gresley and his wife walked through the church-yard with its one melancholy Scotch fir, embarrassed by its trouser of ivy to the little gate which led into their garden. They were a pleasing couple, seen at a little distance.
I suppose the Bishop had told him about the porch, and he was afraid I should come on him for repairs, as he had tampered with it. The Bishop sent them away, and said he wanted to have a talk with me. The Bishop himself was the only person who was kind." There was a long pause. Mrs. Gresley laid her soft cheek against her husband's, and put her small hand in a protecting manner over his large one.
Gresley was found writing. Hester instantly perceived that it was a pose, and that he had taken up the pen when he heard her tap. Her spirits sank a peg lower. "He is going to lecture me about something," she said to herself, as he kissed her. "Have you had tea? It is choir practice this evening, and we don't have supper till nine." Hester had had tea before she started. "And you are not cold?"
Gresley what she believed to be indignation at Hester's extravagance, an indignation which had been increased when she caught sight of her own untidy wrapper over her chair. She always appeared to disadvantage in Hester's presence. The old smouldering grievance about the washing set a light to other feelings. They caught. They burned. They had been drying in the oven a long time.
But, if it is not too much to ask, I should regard it as a favor another time if I might be informed beforehand what direction your diocesan aid was about to take." Dr. Brown, who often came to luncheon at the Palace, came in now. He took off his leathern driving-gloves and held his hands to the fire. "Cold," he said. "They're skating everywhere. How is Miss Gresley?"
It never reached the stone or the wood, whichever the little kennel is made of. You ought to be thankful it did not drop on one of the children, or on your own head. It would have knocked all the texts out of it for some time to come." Mr. Gresley did not look very grateful as he led the way to his study. "I was lunching with the Bishop to-day," said Dick, "and Dr. Brown was there.
I remembered as soon as James had started, and ran after him, but he was too far off to hear me call to him." It cost Hester a good deal to give this explanation, as she was aware that the Bishop's visit had been to her and to her alone. "Come, come," said Mr. Gresley, judicially, with the natural masculine abhorrence of a feminine skirmish.
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