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The old housekeeper and her son remain until the preparations are complete, and then she returns upstairs. Volumnia has taken Mrs. Rouncewell's place in the meantime, though pearl necklaces and rouge pots, however calculated to embellish Bath, are but indifferent comforts to the invalid under present circumstances.
The question then arises, should that young woman be deprived of these many advantages and that good fortune simply because she has" Sir Leicester, with an apologetic but dignified inclination of his head towards the ironmaster, winds up his sentence "has attracted the notice of Mr Rouncewell's son? Now, has she deserved this punishment? Is this just towards her?
They are very sinewy and strong, are Rouncewell's hands a little sooty too.
But of all the shadows in Chesney Wold, the shadow in the long drawing-room upon my Lady's picture is the first to come, the last to be disturbed. At this hour and by this light it changes into threatening hands raised up and menacing the handsome face with every breath that stirs. "She is not well, ma'am," says a groom in Mrs. Rouncewell's audience-chamber. "My Lady not well! What's the matter?"
Rouncewell's townsman heard of the disclosure, he no more allowed the girl to be patronized and honoured than he would have suffered her to be trodden underfoot before his eyes. Such was his pride, that he indignantly took her away, as if from reproach and disgrace. He had no sense of the honour done him and his daughter by the lady's condescension; not the least.
"Rouncewell's? Ah! You're right." "And where might it be now?" asks the trooper with a glance before him. "The bank, the factory, or the house?" the workman wants to know. "Hum! Rouncewell's is so great apparently," mutters the trooper, stroking his chin, "that I have as good as half a mind to go back again. Why, I don't know which I want. Should I find Mr.
A dolly sort of beauty perhaps," says Miss Volumnia, reserving her own sort, "but in its way, perfect; such bloom I never saw!" Sir Leicester, with his magnificent glance of displeasure at the rouge, appears to say so too. "Indeed," remarks my Lady languidly, "if there is any uncommon eye in the case, it is Mrs. Rouncewell's, and not mine. Rosa is her discovery." "Your maid, I suppose?" "No.
Is this our previous understanding?" "I beg your pardon," interposes Mr. Rouncewell's son's father. "Sir Leicester, will you allow me? I think I may shorten the subject. Pray dismiss that from your consideration. If you remember anything so unimportant which is not to be expected you would recollect that my first thought in the affair was directly opposed to her remaining here."
Tulkinghorn's office, but he is sure he may make use of Mr. Tulkinghorn's name if necessary." Finding, now she leaves off, that she has been making quite a long speech, Rosa is shyer than ever. Now, Mr. Tulkinghorn is, in a manner, part and parcel of the place, and besides, is supposed to have made Mrs. Rouncewell's will.
"And it is a remarkable example of the confusion into which the present age has fallen; of the obliteration of landmarks, the opening of floodgates, and the uprooting of distinctions," says Sir Leicester with stately gloom, "that I have been informed by Mr. Tulkinghorn that Mrs. Rouncewell's son has been invited to go into Parliament." Miss Volumnia utters a little sharp scream.
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