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Updated: May 12, 2025
Brookenham's failure to repudiate the vision appeared to suffice, and her visitor cheerfully took a further jump. "As much of Tishy as she wants AFTER. But not before." "After what?" "Well say after Mr. Mitchett. Mr. Mitchett won't take her after Mrs. Grendon." "And what are your grounds for assuming that he'll take her at all?"
My dear Mitchett," the Duchess resumed after a moment's reflexion, "if you're so rash as to ask me in any of these connexions for my 'real' impression you deserve whatever you may get."
Mitchett he now found himself quite pleasantly at his ease. Their host, however, was a person sui generis, whom he had accepted, once for all, the inconsequence of liking in conformity with the need he occasionally felt to put it on record that he was not narrow-minded.
Brookenham, meeting her friend's eyes, looked for an instant as if trying to recall. "I give it up. I muddle beginnings." "That doesn't matter if you only MAKE them," the Duchess smiled. "No, does it?" To which Mrs. Brookenham added: "Did he bring Mr. Mitchett for Aggie?" "If he did they'll have been disappointed. Neither of them has seen, in my house, the tip of her nose."
But there are moments," Mr. Mitchett ruefully added, "when it would relieve him awfully to feel free for a good spin." "I think you exaggerate," his hostess replied, "the difficulties in your way. What do you mean by all the 'reasons'?" "Why one of them I've already mentioned. I make her flesh creep." "My own Mitchy!" Mrs. Brookenham protestingly moaned.
Brookenham had done; and Mr. Mitchett was on his feet as well, to act on this last admonition. Mrs. Donner was taking leave, and there occurred among the three ladies in connexion with the circumstance a somewhat striking exchange of endearments. Mr. Mitchett, observing this, expressed himself suddenly as diverted. "By Jove, they're kissing she's in Lady Fanny's arms!"
Mitchett of course did justice all round, or at least, as would have seemed from an enquiry he presently made, wished not to fail of it. "Is it your real impression then that Lady Fanny has serious grounds " "For jealousy of that preposterous little person?
Mitchett protested; "I've seen you with books from Vanderbank which if you HAVE discussed them with him well," he laughed, "I should like to have been there!" "You haven't seen me with anything like yours no, no, never, never!" She was particularly positive. "Van on the contrary gives tremendous warnings, makes apologies, in advance, for things that well, after all, haven't killed one."
His face only offered itself after the fashion of a clean domestic vessel, a receptacle with the peculiar property of constantly serving yet never filling, to Lord Petherton's talkative splash. "Well, only don't let him take it up. Let it be only between you and me," Mr. Mitchett pleaded; "keep him quiet don't let him speak to me."
He himself saw little of the young mothers; shy of them, secretly afraid, perhaps, of not being censorious enough. But once in a way Life set him face to face with one. On New Year's Eve he was sitting in his study after tea, at that hour which he tried to keep for his parishioners, when a Mrs. Mitchett was announced, a small bookseller's wife, whom he knew for an occasional Communicant.
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