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Updated: May 24, 2025
While Miss Pollingray was speaking, my eyes were fixed on a Vidal crayon drawing, faintly coloured with chalks, of a foreign lady I could have sworn to her being French young, quite girlish, I doubt if her age was more than mine. She is pretty, is she not? said Miss Pollingray.
She laughed and blushed, and we tottered asunder. 'Would you have talked metaphysics to me in the water, Mr. Pollingray? Alice was here guilty of one of those naughty sort of innocent speeches smacking of Eve most strongly; though, of course, of Eve in her best days.
Pollingray particularly wished to have my company in a ride, I rose submissively and cried. This humiliation made my temper ferocious. Mr. Pollingray observed my face, and put it down in his notebook. 'A savage disposition, or, no, 'An untamed little rebel'; for he has hopes of me. He had the cruelty to say so. 'What I am, I shall remain, said I.
'Gently, Papa: Abraham, I will not. 'My dear, but you must. 'And that man opposite. 'What, Pollingray? He's fifty. I found myself walking indignantly down the path. Even now I protest my friend was guilty of bad manners, though I make every allowance for him; I excuse, I pass the order; but why what justifies one man's bawling out another man's age? What purpose does it serve?
This is really to pretend that he is superhuman. I like him so much that I could wish him superior to such it is nothing other than vanity. Which is worse? A young man giving himself the air of a sage, or but no one can call Mr. Pollingray an old man. He is a confirmed bachelor. That puts the case.
Pollingray praised my seat on horseback. I know I can ride, or feel the 'blast of a horse like my own' as he calls it. Yet he never could have had a duller companion. My conversation was all yes and no, as if it went on a pair of crutches like a miserable cripple. I was humiliated and vexed. All the while I was trying to lead up to the French lady, and I could not commence with a single question.
Pollingray, who's but three years her junior, should look at least twenty years younger at the very least. His moustache and beard are of the colour of a corn sheaf, and his blue eyes shining over them remind me of summer. That describes him. He is summer, and has not fallen into his autumn yet. Miss Pollingray helped me to talk a little.
But I shook my head, and remained like a silly mute. I was induced towards the close of the meal to come out with a few French words. I was utterly shamefaced. Mr. Pollingray has got the French manner of protesting that one is all but perfect in one's speaking. I know how absurd it must have sounded. But I felt his kindness, and in my heart I thanked him humbly.
Pollingray, and his bow inflated me with ideas of my condescension. Behold the uttermost fool of all female creation led over the house by Mr. Pollingray. He showed me the family pictures. 'I am no judge of pictures, Mr. Pollingray. 'You will learn to see the merits of these. 'I'm afraid not, though I were to study them for years. 'You may have that opportunity.
If by chance I had come earlier to see him and he to allude to her, he would have had my conscience on his side, and that is what a scrupulous man takes care to prevent. I wonder whether my friends imagine me to be the same man whom they knew as Gilbert Pollingray a month back?
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