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Updated: May 16, 2025
George Hatchard fell over a footstool with surprise. "Go on," he ses, rubbing his leg. "It's a queer thing, but I was going to ask the Morgans 'ere to spend the evening next Wednesday." "Or was it Tuesday?" ses Alf, considering. "I said Tuesday," ses his uncle, looking over Alf's head so that he needn't see 'im wink agin. "Wot was the end of your dream, Alf?"
The air inside was warm and comfortable, and pervaded by an appetizing smell of cooked meats. Upstairs a small bright fire and a neatly laid supper-table awaited his arrival. He sank into an easy-chair and rubbed his hands. Then his gaze fell on a small bell on the table, and opening the door he rang for supper. "Yes, sir," said Mrs. Hatchard, entering the room.
"Lucius has such a feeling for the past that he has roused us all to a sense of our privileges," Miss Hatchard would say, lingering on the last word, which was a favourite one.
In spite of everything and in spite even of Miss Hatchard lawyer Royall ruled in North Dormer; and Charity ruled in lawyer Royall's house. She had never put it to herself in those terms; but she knew her power, knew what it was made of, and hated it. Confusedly, the young man in the library had made her feel for the first time what might be the sweetness of dependence.
She was trying to discover Harney among the notable people in the front row; but he was nowhere near Miss Hatchard, who, crowned by a pearl-grey hat that matched her gloves, sat just below the desk, supported by Mrs. Miles and an important-looking unknown lady.
"But he was drownded in the Evening Star" ses Joe Morgan. Bill Flurry didn't answer 'im. He poured out pretty near a tumbler of whisky and offered it to Mrs. Pearce, but she pushed it away, and, arter looking round in a 'elpless sort of way and shaking his 'ead once or twice, he finished it up 'imself. "It couldn't 'ave been 'im," ses George Hatchard, speaking through 'is handkerchief.
"It's bigamy," ses Joe Morgan. "You'd get six months," ses his wife. "Don't you worry, dear," ses Mrs. Pearce, nodding at George Hatchard; "that man's made a mistake." "Mistake!" ses Bill Flurry. "Why, I tell you I talked to 'im. It was Charlie Pearce right enough; scar on 'is forehead and a wart on 'is left ear and all." "It's wonderful," ses Mrs. Pearce.
"You can go, as I said before," said his wife. "I'd go this minute," said Mr. Hatchard, "but I know what it 'ud be: in three or four days you'd be coming and begging me to take you back again." "You try me," said Mrs. Hatchard, with a hard laugh. "I can keep myself. You leave me the furniture most of it is mine and I sha'n't worry you again." "Mind!" said Mr.
"Round about four o'clock." Charity was silent. She had been so steeped in the dreamy remembrance of young Harney's visit that she had forgotten having deserted her post as soon as he had left the library. "Who came at four o'clock?" "Miss Hatchard did." "Miss Hatchard? Why, she ain't ever been near the place since she's been lame. She couldn't get up the steps if she tried."
As they circled about the floor all her vain fears dropped from her, and she even forgot that she was probably dancing in Annabel Balch's slippers. When the waltz was over Harney, with a last hand-clasp, left her to meet Miss Hatchard and Miss Balch, who were just entering. Charity had a moment of anguish as Miss Balch appeared; but it did not last.
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