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Updated: May 22, 2025
Why do you not go down, Mr. Conolly?" "I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for a while." "Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her there by herself." "By herself! Why, is not the place full?" "Yes; but I do not mean that. There is nobody belonging to her there." "You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend.
Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at one another, but forbore to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few words in a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a gesture of impatience, feeling that she was out of tune. Marian, with only Conolly to keep her in countenance, felt relieved when Marmaduke, thrice encored, entered the room in triumph.
"Because I ask you to, dear," said Marian, gently. The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the garden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps of her, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other side of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across.
Lind then led the electrician forward, and avoided a formal presentation by saying with a simper: "Here is Mr. Conolly, who will extricate us from all our difficulties." Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Marmaduke shook hands good-naturedly, and retired somewhat abashed, thrumming his banjo.
Lind had taken a house in Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently with his daughter. Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post came. "Yes," said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news: "I knew there was something the matter when I saw Reginald's handwriting. It must be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last.
"Then it's all up with the concert. We have forgotten Marian's music; and there is nothing for Nelly I beg pardon, I mean Miss McQuinch to play from. She is above playing by ear." "I cannot play by ear," said the restless young lady, angrily. "If you will sing 'Coal black Rose' instead, Marian, I can accompany you on the banjo, and back you up in the chorus.
The faces of the young ladies elongated. "That's nonsense, mamma," said Lydia. "We cant wear those brown reps again." Women wore reps in those days. "You need not be alarmed," said Elinor. "I dont want any clothes. I can go as I am." "You dont know what you are talking about, child," said Mrs. McQuinch.
"Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?" she said, letting her temper loose. "How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?" "What can I do, Miss McQuinch?" he said, gently. "You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter idiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him? If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you."
"There's a letter for you from Marian," said Mrs. McQuinch. "Thanks," said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note into her pocket. She liked Marian's letters, and kept them to read in her hours of solitude. "What does she say?" said Mrs. McQuinch. "I have not looked," replied Elinor. "Well," said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, "I wish you would look.
Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before, and the audience, longing for another negro melody, paid little attention to her. Marian sang a religious song, which was received with the respect usually accorded to a dull sermon. The clergyman read a comic essay of his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode to Mazzini.
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