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Updated: April 30, 2025
This seemed to leave him at ease to ask their companion, with the preliminary intimation that what she had just said was very striking, what she meant by her daughter's conduct to old Peter. Before Mrs. Rooth could answer this question, however, Miriam broke across with one of her own. "Do you mind telling me if you made your sister go off with Mr.
Miss Rooth and her mother were old friends of his, and he was the first person to speak of them to me." "What a distinction! I thought him disgusting!" cried Julia, who was pressed for time and who had now got up. "Oh you're severe," said Peter, still bland; but when they separated she had given him something to think of.
"Surely a pure affection is its own beautiful reward," Mrs. Rooth pleaded with soft reasonableness. "In such a case how can it be pure?" "I thought you were talking of an English gentleman," she replied. "Call the poor fellow whatever you like: a man with his life to lead, his way to make, his work, his duties, his career to attend to.
"She might know any one she would, and the only person she appears to take any pleasure in is that dreadful Miss Rover," Mrs. Rooth whimpered to him more than once leading him thus to recognise in the young lady so designated the principal complication of Balaklava Place.
Among such missives, on the morning of the Saturday on which Peter Sherringham had promised to dine at the other house, was a note from Miriam Rooth, informing Nick that if he shouldn't telegraph to put her off she would turn up about half-past eleven, probably with her mother, for just one more sitting.
"The fewer adventures you have to tell the better, my dear," said Mrs. Rooth; "and if Mr. Dormer keeps you quiet he'll add ten years to my life." "It all makes an interesting comment on Mr. Dormer's own quietness, on his independence and sweet solitude," Nick observed. "Miss Rooth has to work with others, which is after all only what Mr. Dormer has to do when he works with Miss Rooth.
Therefore what I'm doing's only too magnanimous bringing these benighted women here, paying with my person, stifling my just repugnance." While Sherringham judged privately that the manner in which Miss Rooth had acquitted herself offered no element of interest, he yet remained aware that something surmounted and survived her failure, something that would perhaps be worth his curiosity.
"So far from 'minding' it I'm eager to see him," Sherringham declared; "and I can imagine nothing better than what you describe if he isn't an awful ass." "Dear me, if he isn't clever you must tell us: we can't afford to be deceived!" Mrs. Rooth innocently wailed. "What do we know how can we judge?" she appealed. He had a pause, his hand on the latch.
Rooth had entered with precautions; she had approached the house and retreated; she had effaced herself had peered and waited and listened. Maternal solicitude and muddled calculations had drawn her from a feast as yet too imperfectly commemorative.
All his eagerness to see what Nick had been able to make of such a subject as Miriam Rooth came back to him: though it was what mainly had brought him to Rosedale Road he had forgotten it in the happy accident of his encounter with the girl.
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