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There was that Verschoyle's proposal. I did absolutely think at one time she'd marry me before I could protest against it! Then there was that shock to one's whole nervous system, when that indigo man, who took Lady Laura's house, asked us to dinner, and actually thought we should go! and there was a scene, you know, of all earthly horrors, when Mrs.
On the morrow Margaret Verschoyle was to be his wife, and they were to go direct to his beautiful Devonshire home for the purpose of comfortably installing her mother there, before setting forth on the tour. Mrs. Verschoyle's health had wonderfully improved with the knowledge of her children's bright prospects; and wonders were expected from the soft Devonshire air.
He had little sympathy for a nature such as Verschoyle's; and, unconsciously perhaps to himself, the few words he uttered conveyed what was in his mind to the other, who was quick to resent it. "Put me in the way of earning money, indeed!
There was very little interchange of thought. Allan Meredith was speculating as to how best he could set about helping Margaret Verschoyle's brother; and beginning to fear it would be very difficult to do so, unless he were more inclined than he now appeared to put his shoulder to the wheel.
The old place you'll see before you is the Priory." Time and weather had effaced whatever information the sign-post had once afforded, and there was nothing for it but to take the direction in which it pointed. He walked slowly on, speculating as to what sort of welcome he was likely to receive from Verschoyle's people. How little he knew about them.
"Is the monk supposed to have a predilection for any particular chamber?" asked Meredith. "Ghosts are uncertain visitors, I know; but it would be something to pass a night where one might be expected." "You might find it no jest if he came," said Laurence. "Oh, I should take him seriously enough. In fact, I have something of Miss Verschoyle's feeling.
Some have to go down, and I'm one of them that's all!" "That is not Miss Verschoyle's creed, I think?" "My sister! She has been telling you about the wretched teaching business, I suppose? She, at any rate, is not cursed with the family pride. I can't endure to see her go about giving lessons to the clodhoppers round here. Does no end of drudgery about the house, too."
She was regarding him with a surprised, questioning look, which reminded him that he was gazing too pertinaciously. A little consciously he lifted his hat and asked: "Can you direct me to the Priory?" "The Priory?" she repeated in a low voice, her eyes fixed more intently upon him, and her hand tightening on the gate. "Mr. Verschoyle's place.
Quite an age since I saw you last." Allan Meredith grasped the hand extended towards him, all the more heartily, perhaps, because it was the hand of Miss Verschoyle's brother, as he explained, "I was at the junction, and being so near, thought I would look you up." "Glad to see you, old fellow. You know this is my sister?" "Yes; Miss Verschoyle was good enough to show me the way."
The usual words, not generally estimated above their value; and the idea of acting upon them had not occurred to Allan Meredith until he found himself stranded for some hours at the junction, and, turning over the leaves of Bradshaw, came upon the name of Middleford, and remembered that it was Laurence Verschoyle's place.
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