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Updated: June 29, 2025
A man who can change his complexion, at will, is a man we hav'n't heard of yet, Mr. Roylake." I had been dressing for some time past; longing to see Cristel, it is needless to say. "Is there anything more," I asked, "that I ought to know?" "Only one thing, Mr. Roylake, that I can think of," Gloody replied. "I'm afraid it's Miss Cristel's turn next." "What do you mean?"
"I have been wandering in your glorious wood, Mr. Roylake. Anything to escape the respectable classes on Sunday, patronizing piety on the way to afternoon church. I must positively make a sketch of the cottage by the mill I mean, of course, the picturesque side of it. That fine girl of Toller's was standing at the door. She is really handsomer than ever. Are you going to see her, you wicked man?
I am going to my mother now: her spirit has been with me ever since my hearing was restored; her spirit said to me last night: "Atone, my son! Give the man whom you have wronged, the woman whom he loves." I had intended to go to the house, and welcome her on her return. You must go instead of me; you will see that lovely face when I am in my grave. Good-bye, Roylake.
"I can't endure my life, if I'm not helping to trace Cristel." He was most kind. "I understand," he said. "Try what you can get those two ladies to tell you and you may help us materially." Mrs. Roylake was nearest to me. I appealed to her womanly sympathies, and was answered by tears.
The servant was charged with the delivery of another excuse: her ladyship would write. The she-socialist's reply is easy to remember: "Dear Mr. Roylake, when you have recovered your temper, you will hear from me again." Even my stepmother gained by comparison with this. To rest, and do nothing, was to exercise a control over myself of which I was perfectly incapable. I went back to the cottage.
He shall only tell Cristel that you have come back to England, and you shall arrange to meet her in our grounds when she returns. I am a childless woman, Mr. Roylake and I love her as I should have loved a daughter of my own. Your stepmother and Lady Rachel will acknowledge, even from their point of view, that there is a mistress who is worthy of her position at Trimley Deen."
I'm the one man in ten thousand who does it. Mr. Gerard Roylake, I'm going to trust you." With this incoherent expression of a resolution unknown to me, he unlocked a shabby trunk hidden in a corner, and took from it a small portfolio. "Men of your age," he resumed, "seldom look below the surface. Learn that valuable habit, sir and begin by looking below the surface of Me."
If I am asked to account for this, I can only reply that the conspiracy to lead me into proposing marriage to Lady Lena first showed itself on the occasion to which I have referred. In her eagerness to reach her ends, Mrs. Roylake failed to handle the fine weapons of deception as cleverly as usual. Even I, with my small experience of worldly women, discovered the object that she had in view.
Roylake entered a vigorous protest. She assured me that I was completely mistaken. "Lady Rachel," she said, "is the most perfectly candid person in the whole circle of my acquaintance." With the best intentions on my part, this was more than I could patiently endure. "Isn't she the daughter of a nobleman?" I asked.
On the next morning, my meeting with the daughter of the miller. Lady Lena at dinner; Cristel before breakfast. If Mrs. Roylake found out that social contrast, what would she say? I was a merry young fool; I burst out laughing. The dinner at Trimley Deen has left in my memory little that I can distinctly recall.
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