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Updated: May 15, 2025
Trilling it out like a kind of bird, with a pretty high note, that it may be audible to the old lady above the hum of the wheels. "Bless you, and thank you," says Mrs. Rouncewell. "Bless you, and thank you, my worthy soul!" "Dear heart!" cries Mrs. Bagnet in the most natural manner. "No thanks to me, I am sure. Thanks to yourself, ma'am, for being so ready to pay 'em!
"How do you do, Mrs. Rouncewell? I am glad to see you." "I hope I have the honour of welcoming you in good health, Sir Leicester?" "In excellent health, Mrs. Rouncewell." "My Lady is looking charmingly well," says Mrs. Rouncewell with another curtsy. My Lady signifies, without profuse expenditure of words, that she is as wearily well as she can hope to be.
Heaven forbid that she should say a syllable in dispraise of any member of that excellent family, above all, of my Lady, whom the whole world admires; but if my Lady would only be "a little more free," not quite so cold and distant, Mrs. Rouncewell thinks she would be more affable. "'Tis almost a pity," Mrs.
Rouncewell feels it necessary to explain. "Miss Dedlock don't speak of my eldest son, Sir Leicester, but my youngest. I have found him. He has come home." Sir Leicester breaks silence with a harsh cry. "George? Your son George come home, Mrs. Rouncewell?" The old housekeeper wipes her eyes. "Thank God. Yes, Sir Leicester."
"Are you aware, sir, that this young woman whom my Lady my Lady has placed near her person was brought up at the village school outside the gates?" "Sir Leicester, I am quite aware of it. A very good school it is, and handsomely supported by this family." "Then, Mr. Rouncewell," returns Sir Leicester, "the application of what you have said is, to me, incomprehensible."
"She has no daughter of her own, has she?" "Mrs. Rouncewell? No, Volumnia. She has a son. Indeed, she had two." My Lady, whose chronic malady of boredom has been sadly aggravated by Volumnia this evening, glances wearily towards the candlesticks and heaves a noiseless sigh.
Rouncewell," George replies, leaning forward with his left arm on his knee and his hat in his hand, and very chary of meeting his brother's eye, "I am not without my expectations that in the present visit I may prove to be more free than welcome. I have served as a dragoon in my day, and a comrade of mine that I was once rather partial to was, if I don't deceive myself, a brother of yours.
The old girl would prefer the bar in front, as being exposed to the weather and a primitive sort of perch more in accordance with her usual course of travelling, but Mrs. Rouncewell is too thoughtful of her comfort to admit of her proposing it. The old lady cannot make enough of the old girl.
"When I look at you, George Rouncewell," Sir Leicester observes with difficulty, "I see something of a boy at Chesney Wold I remember well very well." He looks at the trooper until tears come into his eyes, and then he looks at the sleet and snow again. "I ask your pardon, Sir Leicester," says the trooper, "but would you accept of my arms to raise you up?
Rouncewell, getting up from her chair; "and what is to be noticed in it is that it MUST BE HEARD. My Lady, who is afraid of nothing, admits that when it is there, it must be heard. You cannot shut it out. You understand how those things are managed?" "Pretty well, grandmother, I think." "Set it a-going." Watt sets it a-going music and all. "Now, come hither," says the housekeeper.
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