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Updated: May 4, 2025
He was bound for Christmas to the Silts "as a REAL guest," Mrs. Silt had written, underlining the word "real" twice. And after Christmas he must go to the Pembrokes. "These are no reasons. The only real reason for doing a thing is because you want to do it. I think the talk about 'engagements' is cant." "I think perhaps it is," said Rickie. But he went.
"No. That was Anderson, who keeps below. You didn't see Ansell. The ones who came to breakfast were Tilliard and Hornblower." "Of course. And since then you have been with the Silts. How are they?" "Very well, thank you. They want to be remembered to you." The Pembrokes had formerly lived near the Elliots, and had shown great kindness to Rickie when his parents died.
In short, if a house could speak and sometimes it does speak more clearly than the people who live in it the house of the Pembrokes would have said, "I am not quite like other houses, yet I am perfectly comfortable. I contain works of art and a microscope and books. But I do not live for any of these things or suffer them to disarrange me.
Ben Johnson has wrote an epitaph upon her, so inimitably excellent, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting it here. She was buried in the Cathedral Church of Salisbury, among the graves of the family of the Pembrokes.
Barclay offered to attend her, and when she found that Caroline and the Lady Pembrokes were going, she had a mind not to go, and she resolved to detain them all in admiration of her. She took her shawl from Sir James, and throwing it round her in graceful drapery, she asked him if he had ever seen any of Lady Hamilton's attitudes, or rather scenic representations with shawl drapery.
If the dell was to bear any inscription, he would have liked it to be "This way to Heaven," painted on a sign-post by the high-road, and he did not realize till later years that the number of visitors would not thereby have sensibly increased. On the blessed Monday that the Pembrokes left, he walked out here with three friends. It was a day when the sky seemed enormous.
Lady Angelica, though she would sometimes handle a pencil, touch the harp, or take up a book, yet never was really employed. Caroline was continually occupied. In the morning, she usually sat with Rosamond and the two Lady Pembrokes, in a little room called the Oriel, which opened into the great library. Here in happy retirement Caroline and Rosamond looked over Mrs.
Barclay followed, stayed to admire Miss Percy's drawings, which he had never seen before, and in looking over these sketches of hers from Flaxman's Homer, and from Euripides and AEschylus, which the Lady Pembrokes showed him, and in speaking of these, he discovered so much of Caroline's taste, literature, and feeling, that he could not quit the Oriel.
Her two friends, the Lady Pembrokes, instantly placed her between them, her countenance expressing just what she felt, affectionate pleasure at seeing them. "A sweet pretty creature, really!" whispered Lady Angelica, to her admirer in waiting, Sir James Harcourt. "Ye ye yes; but nothing marquante," replied Sir James. Mr. Barclay's eye followed, and fixed upon Caroline, with a degree of interest.
The more his love, the more doubts of his own deserts increased; but at last he determined to try his fate. He caught a glimpse of Caroline one morning as she was drawing in the Oriel. Her sister and the two Lady Pembrokes were in the library, and he thought he was secure of finding her alone.
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