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Updated: June 17, 2025
You said the other night they were grey," and she smiled bewitchingly. But, I wouldn't be coaxed into good humour. "Ce m'est egal," I answered coldly, "whatever they are." "You are very cross!" she said pettishly; "I will go and talk to Mr Mawley, until you get into a better mood, sir, and are more amiable."
"Oh, puss in the corner!" cried Seraphine Dasher. "That will be delightful!" "With all my heart; puss in the corner be it," said the vicar, who could be a boy again on fitting occasions, and play with the best of us. "Come, Mawley," he added, "come and exert yourself; and help to pull these forms out of the way," setting to work vigorously at the same time, himself.
"What queer people poets are, generally speaking," said Mr Mawley. "Do you think so?" said I. "Yes, I do," he replied. "I would divide poets into three great classes, which I would call respectively the enthusiastic school, the water-cart school, and the horse-going-round-in-the-mill school."
"Oh, fie!" said my interlocutor; while I could hear Miss Spight murmur "What deplorable levity," as she glowered at me severely and looked sympathisingly at Mr Mawley. "Well," said I, "I was only joking then; for, really, I've never seriously thought about the matter. As far as I can believe, however, I do not imagine heaven is going to be a place where we'll be singing hymns all day.
Erebus protested that the upshot of his going alone would be that Sir James would presently be their detested stepfather; but he went alone, early in the afternoon. He was now on such familiar terms at the Grange that Mawley took him straight to the smoking-room, where his master was smoking a cigar over his after-lunch coffee.
Listening to the small sacred concert that thereupon ensued, we had remained until quite late in the evening; and, on our way home through the churchyard, as we loitered along, looking at the graves, and trying to decipher by the slowly waning light the half illegible inscriptions on the headstones, we came across Mr Mawley.
"Why, he'll tell everybody he meets the news in confidence, just the same as he did you. I'll give him a good wigging, I tell you! Mr Mawley is not going to be married in a hurry; and if he is, not to the young person you think, Master Frank."
"He's always worrying me and rubbing against me the wrong way!" "That does not matter, Frank," she replied in the same grave accents, as coldly as if she was speaking to a stranger "a gentleman should be a gentleman always. I tell you what," she continued, turning away as she spoke "I will never speak to you again, Frank, until you apologise to Mr Mawley for the language you have used!"
He might come home at any time, he had informed Mrs. Mawley in his last letter, received six weeks ago.
To us, who have not the pleasure to belong to either half, there is very little surprising in the matter. Reginald had been for some time on a visit at the house of a distant relation old Sir Hugh de Mawley.
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