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Updated: May 28, 2025
Scobel is with her, and would like to see you." Violet rose with a sigh. "Is my hair awfully untidy, Phoebe?" "I think I had better arrange the plaits, miss." "That means that I'm an object. It's four o'clock; I may as well change my dress for dinner. I suppose I must go down to dinner?" "Lor' yes, miss; it will never do to shut yourself up in your own room and fret.
Most of the people looking at the show had made their offerings, and were anxious to see if their own particular contribution appeared to advantage. Here Mrs. Scobel was in her element. She explained everything, expatiated upon the beauty and usefulness of everything.
I am sure the poor have an immense deal done for them. Look at Mr. Scobel, is he not always trying to help them." "I do what I can," said the clergyman modestly; "but I only wish it were more. An income of sixteen shillings a week for a family of seven requires a good deal of ekeing out.
"When she has a head-ache she lies in bed, and has the venetian blinds kept down, just as if she were dying. No wonder she looks pale and " "Etiolated," said the Vicar; "perishing for want of light. But I believe it's moral sunshine that is wanted there, my dear Fanny, say what you will." Mr. Scobel was correct in his judgment.
Tempest, not making it too clear whether she meant the blankets, or the recipients thereof. Violet said nothing after her little ironical protest about the poor. She sat opposite the fire, between her mother and Mr. Scobel, but at some distance from both. The ruddy light glowed on her ruddy hair, and lit up her pale cheeks, and shone in her brilliant eyes.
"I told him we would join him in the vestibule directly I could find you. Where have you been all this time? You were not in the Lancers. Such a pretty set. Oh, here is Mrs. Scobel!" as the Vicar's wife approached them on her partner's arm, in a piteous state of dilapidation not a bit of tulle putting left, and all her rosebuds crushed as flat as dandelions.
All such entertainments were an abhorrence to him; but this particular ball, being given in Lent, was more especially abhorrent. "I shouldn't think of going for my own amusement," Mrs. Scobel told her husband, "but I want to see Violet Tempest at her first local ball dance. I want to see the impression she makes. I believe she will be the belle of the ball."
"I shall be more than pleased. I passed your pretty little church, I think, on my way here. There was a tin tea-ket a bell ringing " "For vespers," exclaimed Mrs. Scobel. The exploration of the house took a long time, conducted in this somewhat desultory and dawdling manner; but the closing in of night and the sound of the dinner-gong gave the signal for Captain Winstanley's departure. Mrs.
If the lady's languid loveliness had faded more within the last year or so than in the ten years that went before it, if her slow step had grown slower, her white hand more transparent, there were no keen loving eyes to mark the change. "That affectation of valetudinarianism is growing on Mrs. Winstanley," Mrs. Scobel said one day to her husband. "It is a pity.
"If you'll pull him up, I think I'll get out and walk," said Mr. Scobel, the back of whose head was on a level with the circle which the pony's hoofs would have been likely to describe in the event of kicking. "Oh, please don't!" cried Vixen. "If you do that I shall think you've no confidence in my driving."
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