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Updated: May 31, 2025
Pine-Avon again; he could not: and on leaving the house walked abstractedly along the streets till he found himself at his own door. In his room he sat down, and placing his hands behind his head thought his thoughts anew. At one side of the room stood an escritoire, and from a lower drawer therein he took out a small box tightly nailed down. He forced the cover with the poker.
He observed that it was not one of the homely flys from the under-hill town, but apparently from the popular resort across the bay. Wondering why the visitor had not driven in he entered, to find in the drawing-room Nichola Pine-Avon.
The doors he passed through seemed as if they had not been opened for a month; and entering the large drawing-room, he beheld, in an arm-chair, in the far distance, a lady whom he journeyed across the carpet to reach, and ultimately did reach. To be sure it was Mrs. Nichola Pine-Avon, but frosted over indescribably.
Pine-Avon had now retrograded to the petty and timid mental position of her mother and grandmother, giving sharp, strict regard to the current literature and art that reached the innocent presence of her long perspective of girls, with the view of hiding every skull and skeleton of life from their dear eyes.
Pine-Avon, who was drinking a cup of tea in the back drawing-room. 'My dear Nichola, we thought we should never get to you, because it is worse to-night, owing to these dreadful politics! But we've done it. And she proceeded to tell her friend of Pierston's existence hard by.
Of course you are! she said, in a low, pleading voice, languidly lifting her heavy eyelids, while he was holding her hand. 'But I couldn't help it! I know I have done something to offend you have I not? O! what can it be, that you have come away to this outlandish rock, to live with barbarians in the midst of the London season? 'You have not offended me, dear Mrs. Pine-Avon, he said.
The lady turned her head somewhat, and, though she was veiled with unusual thickness for the season, he seemed to recognize Nichola Pine-Avon in the form. Why should Mrs. Pine-Avon be there? Pierston asked himself, if it should, indeed, be she.
I wish I had, now! 'I wish you had, too, dear Mrs. Pine-Avon. But it was 'Nichola' that she wanted to be. As they reached the landau he told her that he should be back in town himself again soon, and would call immediately. At the moment of his words Avice Caro, now alone, passed close along by the carriage on the other side, towards her house hard at hand.
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