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Updated: June 24, 2025
Their Sunday custom was to dine at one o'clock, and at six to have tea. Widdowson hated the slightest interference with domestic routine, and he had reluctantly indulged Monica's desire to go to Chelsea this afternoon. Hunger was now added to his causes of discontent. 'Let us have something to eat at once, he said on entering the house.
Monica's undomestic life, and perhaps the association with those Chelsea people, had left results upon her mind. By way of mild discipline, he first of all suggested a closer attention to the affairs of the house. Would it not be well if she spent an hour a day in sewing or fancy work?
'This disorder really won't do: we must manage better somehow. Without replying, Monica rang the dining-room bell, and gave orders. Little change had been made in the interior of the house since its master's marriage. The dressing-room adjoining the principal bed-chamber was adapted to Monica's use, and a few ornaments were added to the drawing-room.
In short, she expected him to read a riddle which there was scarcely a possibility of his understanding. Alice was in correspondence with the gloomy husband. She promised him to use every effort to gain Monica's confidence. Perhaps as the eldest sister she might succeed where Virginia had failed.
Rhoda dismissed the subject lightly, and henceforth showed only the faintest interest in Monica's concerns. Monica meanwhile rejoiced in her liberation from the work and philosophic seventies of Great Portland Street. She saw Widdowson somewhere or other every day, and heard him discourse on the life that was before them, herself for the most part keeping silence. Together they called upon Mrs.
'Yes I can think of you as a friend, Mr. Widdowson. A large boat was passing with four or five young men and girls who sang in good time and tune. Only a song of the music-hall or of the nigger minstrels, but it sounded pleasantly with the plash of the oars. A fine sunset had begun to glow upon the river; its warmth gave a tone to Monica's thin cheeks.
Old Quince, greatly to cousin Monica's amusement, persisted in furnishing me with those capacious pockets which belonged to a former generation.
What years of horror in one such night! Would not this explain my poor father's hesitation, and my cousin Monica's apparently disproportioned opposition? When an idea of terror presents itself to a young person's mind, it transfixes and fills the vision, without respect of probabilities or reason.
They strolled one afternoon along the picture gallery to take another look at it. There were the pretty smiling face so like Monica's and the bunch of red roses that had saved the life of Sir Piers Courtenay. Was all the good fortune of the race to be hers, and would none of it descend to the namesake who so closely resembled her?
My wife was speaking to the doctor yesterday: he considers Sir William Garrett ought to be sent for at once; in a few weeks it may prove too late." "You have known the family a long time?" asked Miss Russell. "Since Monica's birth. I was as well acquainted with old Sir Giles as he would allow anyone to be.
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