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Updated: May 14, 2025
But he soon recovered himself. "Talking of letters," he added, "do you expect Madame Pratolungo to write to you?" For the second time, he entreated me to defer the discussion of that unpleasant subject for the present and yet, with a curious inconsistency, he made another inquiry relating to the subject in the same breath.
Till that time comes as you value your happiness and mine, don't let Madame Pratolungo suspect that you have discovered her. It is she, I firmly believe, who is to blame. I am going to my brother as you will now understand with an object far different to the object which I put forward as an excuse to your false friend. Fear no dispute between Nugent and me. I know him.
I opened the envelope, and read these words: "MADAME PRATOLUNGO, YOU have distressed and pained me more than I can say. There are faults, and serious ones, on my side, I know. I heartily beg your pardon for anything that I may have said or done to offend you. I cannot submit to your hard verdict on me.
Now that I have lost Madame Pratolungo, I have no friend with whom I can talk over my little secrets. My aunt is all that is kind and good to me; but with a person so much older than I am who has lived in such a different world from my world, and whose ideas seem to be so far away from mine how can I talk about my follies and extravagances, and expect sympathy in return!
I drew my arm smartly out of his arm; and I surveyed him with, what poor Pratolungo used to call, "my Roman look." "Mr. Oscar Dubourg! say, in plain words, that you distrust me." He protested of course that he did nothing of the kind without producing the slightest effect on me.
Submissive Oscar was taking a peremptory tone with her for the first time in his life. Submissive Oscar, instead of giving her time to speak, sternly went on. "Madame Pratolungo has made her excuses to you. You ought to receive them; you ought to reciprocate them. It is distressing to see you and hear you. You are behaving ungratefully to your best friend."
"There's another mistake!" remarked Nugent, following him with unabated good humour, to the door. "A married man's idea of another man as a husband, always begins and ends with his idea of himself." He turned to me, as the door closed on Mr. Finch. "Now we are alone, Madame Pratolungo," he said, "I want to speak to you about Miss Finch. There is an opportunity, before she comes in.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Finch I have long wished for this pleasure. Thank you, Mr. Finch, for all your kindness to my brother. Madame Pratolungo, I presume? Permit me to shake hands. It is needless to say, I have heard of your illustrious husband. Aha! here's a baby. Yours, Mrs. Finch? Girl or boy, ma'am? A fine child if a bachelor may be allowed to pronounce an opinion.
With that reply, I told the rector in as few words as possible how my visit to Browndown had ended. Mr. Finch looked at his letter. All those pages of eloquence written for nothing? No! In the nature of things, that could not possibly be. "You have done very well, Madame Pratolungo," he remarked, in his most patronizing manner. "Very well indeed, all things considered.
He looked fiercely backwards and forwards between Oscar and my aunt then turned my way, and putting his heavy hands on my shoulders, looked down at me with an odd angry kind of pity in his face. "My childs is melancholick; my childs is ill," he went on. "Where is our goot-dear Pratolungo? What did you tell me about her, my little-lofe, when I last saw you?
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