Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 18, 2025
Prockter, after the song, had come to him and asked where he could lie down, as he was conscious of a tendency to faint. The butler had indicated Mr. Ollerenshaw's room as the only masculine room available. "Go and ask him how he feels," Helen commanded. Fritz obeyed, and returned with the message that Mr. Prockter had "one of his attacks," and desired his mother.
Prockter's. Many things had happened since then. Still, history repeats itself. "O Love!" exclaimed Emanuel Prockter, adagio and sostenuto, thus diverting from James a hundred glances which James certainly was delighted to lose. And Helen made the piano say "O Love!" in its fashion. And presently Emanuel was launched upon the sea of his yearnings, and voyaging behind the hurricane of passion.
That was nothing. He could not be held responsible for the direction of Mrs. Prockter's cap. He could laugh at that, even though he faintly blushed. But to be caught sitting in the dark with Mrs. Prockter, after ten o'clock at night, in his own house; to have the fact pointed out to him in such a peculiar, meaningful tone as Helen employed here was something that connected him and Mrs.
"We've been looking for you everywhere," Helen burst out. "Oh, Mrs. Prockter, do come with me to the end of the corridor, and look at three old distaffs that I've found in a cupboard!" During the absence of the women, James Ollerenshaw contradicted himself to Emanuel for the sweet sake of Emanuel's stepmother.
"Where is dear Helen?" "She's gone to bed, missis," said James, holding high the candle and gazing at the generous vision in front of him. It wore a bonnet, and a rich Paisley shawl over its flowered silk. "But it's only ten o'clock!" Mrs. Prockter protested. "Yes. But her's gone to bed." "Why," Mrs. Prockter exclaimed, changing the subject wilfully, "you are all straight here!"
He loosed his fingers from his friend, and opened the door. Mr. Emanuel Prockter stood on the doorstep. Mr. Emanuel Prockter wore a beautiful blue suit, with a white waistcoat and pale gold tie; yellow gloves, boots with pointed toes, a glossy bowler hat, a cane, and an eyeglass. He was an impeccable young man, and the avowed delight of his tailor, whose bills were paid by Mrs. Prockter.
Indeed, few persons were unaware that, except for a flying visit in the middle, of two days, to collect his rents, James had spent a fortnight in Derby purchasing sundry portions of Derby. Certainly Helen had not expected him. Nor had she expected Mrs. Prockter, who two days previously had been called away by telegram to the bedside of a sick cousin in Nottingham.
"Do you mean to say, uncle," she demanded, putting the candle down on a small table that stood under a large oil-painting of Joshua and the Sun in the corridor, "that you've been discussing my affairs with Mrs. Prockter?" He saw instantly that he had not been the sage he imagined himself to be. But he was not going to be bullied by Helen, or any other woman younger than Mrs. Prockter.
Nothing violent happened. He had rather expected the heavens to fall, or that at least Mrs. Prockter would exclaim: "Unhand me, monster!" But nothing violent happened. "And this is me, James Ollerenshaw!" he said to himself, still squeezing. One afternoon Sarah Swetnam called, and Helen in person opened the great door to the visitor.
Yet it has been said, by some individual who obviously lacked experience of human nature, that a man never changes the style of his collar after forty. The cab drove up to Hillport, and deposited flowered silk and one bag at the residence of Mrs. Prockter.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking