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Updated: May 28, 2025
And she shan't marry him." "I'm afraid she'll have to," Rowcliffe said. "She won't have to if I take her away somewhere and look after her. I mean to do it. I'll work for her. I'll take care of the child." "Oh, you you !" The Vicar waved her away with a frantic flapping of his hands. He turned to his son-in-law. "Rowcliffe I beg you will you use your influence?" "I have none." That drew her.
As she stood there with him in the doorway, chattering, Rowcliffe was struck again with the excitement of her voice and manner, imperfectly restrained, and with the quivering glitter of her eyes. By these signs he gathered that if Alice was happy her happiness was not complete. It was not happiness in his sense of the word. But Alice's face was unmistakably the face of hope.
"And Mrs. er Cartaret lives in London, doesn't she?" "Oh, yes." Mary's tone implied that you couldn't expect that brilliant lady to live anywhere else. There was a moment in which Rowcliffe again evoked the image of the third Mrs. Cartaret who was "the very one." If anything could have depressed him more, that did. But he pulled himself together. There were things he had to know.
But what he had seen in Garth church made him determined to say something to Greatorex, after all. He went on his northerly round the very next Sunday and timed it so that he overtook his man on his way home from church. The after-dinner pipe made Jim peculiarly approachable, and Rowcliffe approached him suddenly and directly. "I say, Greatorex, why don't you marry?
Blenkiron, the blacksmith's wife, who had arranged to provide tea for Rowcliffe every Wednesday in the Surgery. "Wall, Mrs. Blenkiron," she said, "yo' 'aven't got to mak' tae for yore doctor now?" "Naw. I 'aven't," said Mrs. Blenkiron. "And it's sexpence clane gone out o' me packet av'ry week." Mrs. Blenkiron was a distant cousin of the Greatorexes.
Rowcliffe ceased to wander. He drew up with his back against the chimney-piece, where he faced her. "Close your eyes," he said. She did not close them. But the tired lids drooped. The lifted bow of her mouth drooped. The small, sharp-pointed breasts drooped. And as he watched her he remembered how he had quarreled with her in that room last night.
Jim, flushed with resentment, strode out; and the struggling and scuffling began again, subdued, this time, and respectful. Rowcliffe went out to help. Mrs. Gale on the landing went on talking to herself. "They sud 'ave browt trestles oop first. There's naw place to stond un in. Eh dear! It's job enoof gettin' un oop. What'll it be gettin' un down again wit' 'E layin' in un?
He isn't half a bad fellow if you take him the right way." "Well, then, can't you take him? Can't you say a judicious word?" "If it's to ask him to marry Essy, that wouldn't be very judicious, I'm afraid. He'll marry her if he wants to, and if he doesn't, he won't." "But, my dear Dr. Rowcliffe, think of the gross injustice to that poor girl." "It might be a worse injustice if he married her.
"And does your sister like living in London?" Mary smiled. "I imagine she does very much indeed." "Somehow," said Rowcliffe, "I can't see her there. I thought she liked the country." "Oh, you never can tell whether Gwenda really likes anything. She may have liked it. She may have liked it awfully. But she couldn't go on liking it forever."
She stooped suddenly, bringing under Rowcliffe's eyes the nape of her neck, shining with golden down, and her shoulders, sun-warmed and rosy under the thin muslin of her blouse. They dived at the same moment, and as their heads came up again their faces would have touched but that Rowcliffe suddenly drew back his own. "I say, I do beg your pardon!"
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