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'I suppose I'm in a dreadful state towards the end I almost ran. I was so afraid lest I should miss breakfast, and you can't imagine how hungry I am. Is that oatmeal porridge you are eating, Mr. Wilfrid? Oh, do let me have some; how delicious it will be! 'Nonsense, Beatrice, interposed Mrs. Rossall. 'Let Mr. Athel give you some of that pate, or will you have
Rossall took her brother aside, and pointed out to him a paragraph in Beatrice's letter. It ran thus: 'A very shocking thing has happened, which I suppose I may mention, as you will necessarily hear of it soon. Miss Hood's father has committed suicide, poisoned himself; he was found dead on a common just outside the town. Nobody seems to know any reason, unless it was trouble of a pecuniary kind.
She did not freely express admiration, even in the form of assent to what was said by others. To interpret her reticence as shyness was a misunderstanding, or a misuse of words, natural in the case of an inexact observer like Mrs. Rossall.
'You're not looking quite so well, I'm afraid, remarked his father, with genuine solicitude in his tone. 'Haven't been reading, have you? 'No. 'No imprudences, mind. I must stop that porridge regimen; it doesn't suit you. Ready, Edith? he shouted heartily at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Rossall came down, buttoning her gloves.
Rossall sitting in the dusk by the open French windows, Mr. Athel in a chair just outside, and Wilfrid standing by him, the latter pair smoking. The sky beyond the line of dark greenery was still warm with after-glow of sunset. Emily quietly sought a chair near Mrs. Rossall, from whom she received a kind look. Mr.
But he had the gift of speech, and by an effort could absorb himself as completely in blue-books as in the pages of historian or poet. An hour such as this was the first of his rewards. Two there were in this assembly who turned their eyes upon him with adoration which could scarcely have fallen short of Wilfrid's utmost demands. They were his cousins, Minnie and Patty Rossall.
Her movement across the room had a union of conscious stateliness and virgin grace which became her style of beauty; it was in itself the introduction to fine music. Mrs. Rossall went to accompany. Choice was made of a solo from an oratorio; Beatrice never sang trivialities of the day, a noteworthy variance from her habits in other things.
I know that the plans of a lifetime are upset; I can't get much beyond that at present. Mrs. Rossall was deeply troubled. She sat with her eyes drooped, her lower lip drawn in. 'Do you refer to any plan in particular? she asked next. 'Yes, I suppose I do. 'I am very, very sorry for Beatrice, she said, in a subdued voice. 'You think it will Mrs.
Rossall was describing certain originalities of drawing-room decoration observed on the previous day at a house in town, the half-open door admitted a young lady who had time to glance round the assembled family before her presence was observed. In appearance she was very interesting.
'And you are troubled that the post brings you nothing? 'How do you know? 'Your emotions are on the surface. He made no reply. 'Ah! Mrs. Rossall sighed, 'what a pity you are so independent. I often think a man's majority ought to come ten years later than it does. Most of you are mere boys till thirty at least, and you go and do things that you repent all the rest of your lives.
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