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Updated: May 23, 2025
She could not be all happy, even though she were again leaning on Walter Marrable's arm, or again sitting with it round her waist, beneath the shade of the trees on the banks of the Lurwell. "Then we must wait, and this time we must be patient," she said, when he told her of poor Sir Gregory's headache. "I cannot ask him for anything," said Walter. "Of course not.
You may be sure of this, sir, that I shall ask him for nothing. If the worst comes to the worst, I can go to the Jews as well as my father. I won't, unless I am driven." He was with Mary, of course, that evening, walking again along the banks of the Lurwell, as they had first done now nearly twelve months since. Then the autumn had begun, and now the last of the summer months was near its close.
They were again down on the banks of the Lurwell, sitting together on a slope which had been made to support some hundred yards of a canal, where the river itself rippled down a slightly rapid fall. They were seated between the canal and the river, with their feet towards the latter, and Walter Marrable was just lighting a cigar.
It was but three days after the first meeting between the two cousins, that they were to be seen one evening walking together along the banks of the Lurwell, a little river which at Loring sometimes takes the appearance of a canal, and sometimes of a natural stream.
"They say that they generally do; don't they?" "I hope you don't think so. Any girl would be very fortunate to marry Mr. Gilmore if she loved him." "But you don't?" "You know I am not talking about myself, and you oughtn't to make personal allusions." These cousinly walks along the banks of the Lurwell were not probably favourable to Mr. Gilmore's hopes.
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