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Your sarvant, ma'am;" and she dropped two courtesies, one for each lady. Mrs. Judge was Harrington's old nurse. Zoe often paid a visit to her cottage, but she never came to Vizard Court except on Harrington's birthday, when the servants entertained all the old pensioners and retainers at supper. Her sudden appearance, therefore, and in gala costume, astonished Zoe.
She no longer lay in bed until noon, but was up with the rest of the family, insisting on doing her share in the housework, and proving a very apt pupil in learning that useful and wrongly despised art; when callers came she always dropped in to chat with them a little while, and even the mail-carrier of the "rural delivery, route number two," the errand-boy on the wagon from Harrington's General Store, and all the agents for flavoring extracts and celluloid toilet sets and Bibles for miles around, were not infrequently found lingering on the "back porch" passing the time of day with her, whether they had any excuse of mail or merchandise or not.
What answer Friedrich found to his English proposals, answer due here on the 24th from Captain Dickens, I do not pointedly learn; but can judge of it by Harrington's reply to that Despatch of Dickens's, which entreated candor and open dealing towards his Prussian Majesty.
Harrington's French boots, which that lady was not likely to miss before morning; and had sprained her ankle in the process, a very unpleasant situation for a modest and churchgoing darkey to find herself in, late at night, and her lover looking on. "Be yer gwine to lay dar all night!" asked Vic. "I kin't get up, I tell yer," said Clo. "Is yer bones broke?" "Smashed.
"But when do people shoot and ride? do they ever hunt?" asked Miss Thorn, opening her wide brown eyes in some astonishment at John Harrington's description of society life in America. "Oh yes, they hunt at Newport with a drag and a bagged fox. They do it in July and August, when it is as hot as it can be, and the farmers turn out with pitchforks and stones to warn them off the growing crops."
Affecting not to see the pretty hand which was held out to her, she started back, looked inquisitively into the other's face, and then cried out, as she turned her head round upon her shoulders, "Well, Martha! Martha Chigwin! Here is an old acquaintance come to see us. Emily Harrington, love, Mrs. Harrington's grand-daughter, who went to live with Miss Campion in London.
Done born lady, no poor white trash, gorry mighty knows dat." "Her duties are more particularly with Miss Lina, Gen. Harrington's adopted daughter, who makes no complaint against her for myself, our intercourse is very limited, but she pleases the General. We have expected her at the house for several days, and thought it strange that she did not return."
A fitting response to Harrington's arraignment somehow eluded him, and before he had found the words he wanted an unexpected interruption came from the Western editor, who had been listening to the conversation with almost painful interest. "Mr. Harrington," he asked, abruptly, "can you write?" Harrington looked surprised and boyishly injured. "Yes, suh," he replied, stiffly.
Harrington did not tell me that you were the two friends she expected to dinner?" The Count smiled darkly. "Perhaps our hostess does not know that we have met before " he began; and stopped suddenly when the door opened, and the rustle of Mrs. Harrington's silk dress heralded her coming. Her quick eyes flashed over them with a comprehensive appreciation of the situation.
And, indeed, by virtue of a pride which raised her to the level of what she thought it well to do, Rose was veritably on higher ground than any present. She no longer envied her friend Jenny, who, emerging from the shades, allured by the waltz, dislinked herself from William's arm, and whispered exclamations of sorrow at the scene created by Mr. Harrington's mother.
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