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Updated: May 26, 2025
Sillenger, wife of the colonel of one of the other regiments stationed on the island; Mrs. Malcomson, also the wife of a military man; the Rev. Basil St. John, a man of good family, pronounced refinement, and ultra-ritualistic practices; and Mr. Austin B. Price, a distinguished American diplomatist and man of letters, to whom she became specially attached. Mrs.
Malcomson, from whom Lord Groome would have fled had he seen her in time, for they detested each other cordially, and she never spared him. She was strolling along alone with her eyes cast down, humming a little tune to herself, and thinking.
"What has cooking to do with it?" Mrs. Beale asked. "Why, everything!" Mrs. Malcomson answered, smiling. "If only Mr. St.
'Shrieking sisterhood' doesn't half come up to it!" Mrs. Malcomson passed at that moment. "Should you call her an old harridan?" Mr. St. John asked, smiling involuntarily. "No," the naval man was obliged to confess; "she's deuced handsome; but she presumes on her good looks, and doesn't trouble herself to be agreeable.
Malcomson spoke as well as she looked, the resonant tones of her rich contralto voice pleasing the ear more than her opinions startled the understanding. She owed half her success in life to the careful management of her voice.
That's all I have to say upon the subject. I have traced the affair, and find it to be a falsehood from beginning to ending. I have. And now, go on as you're doing, and I will make Malcomson raise your wages." "Thank you, shir," and he touched his nondescript with an air of great thankfulness and humility.
His heart had expanded to the full: "Mr. Price is wrong, Mrs. Malcomson is wrong," was the new measure to which he set his thoughts. "They exaggerated the evil; they have never perceived in what the good consists. And what do they do with all their wondrous clever talk?
"Or less effectual seeing that no good, but rather the contrary has come of it all!" Mrs. Malcomson answered. "That is the poetry of the pulpit; and the logic too, I may add," she said, leaning back in her chair luxuriously.
However, I wish Mr. Malcomson, that you, who do undherstand gardenin', would thry this fellow, because I want to know whether he's an imposthor or not." "Weel," replied Malcomson, "I dinna care if I do. We'll soon find that out. Come wi' me and Maisther Lanigan here, and we'll see what you ken about the sceentific profession."
Malcomson, let me advise you, as a friend, never to attempt to have the whole conversation to yourself; it I isn't daicent. "Weel, but the toast, man?" "Oh, ay; troth, your nonsense would put any thing out of a man's head. Well, you see this comfortable room?" "Ou, ay; an vara comfortable it is; ma faith, I wuss I had ane like it. The auld squire, however, talks o' buildin' a new gertlen-hoose."
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