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Updated: June 14, 2025
"It is not little to me," replied Meredith, in all sincerity. The chance of spending a few hours in the society of Margaret Verschoyle was, indeed, beginning to mean a great deal to him. He had not, before, met any woman who interested him in this way; and, already, he knew that none other ever would.
Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. The man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. Mrs Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor. You love a certain person. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody.
"Had he not the grace to do that, Miss Verschoyle?" "Well, it was only an old military cloak of my father's, which Laurence had hung over a broom in a corner of the school-room to try my courage." "I wonder what questions you would ask now?" "Oh, there are so many things one would like to know," the sweet face shadowing, and the eyes taking an anxious expression.
"Well, good-night, old fellow"; adding, with an elaborate assumption of carelessness: "Oh, by the way, I'd nearly forgotten: there's a key in that door the one belonging to this must be lost, I fancy; but it seems hermetically sealed. You can't open it, you see," turning and pulling at the handle; "and you are safely barred in at the window," with a little laugh. "All right, Verschoyle.
They went up together, and Laurence showed the other into a large, barely-furnished, and somewhat desolate-looking room, with two doors and one high, narrow, iron-barred window. "Sorry we have no better quarters to offer you, Meredith." "I am no sybarite, Verschoyle. You'll say that when you see my room at home.
These were followed by the rifles, belts, greatcoats, and knapsacks, so that in another five minutes the regiment stood, as it were, stripped clean. "Of course on a trooper there'd be a company below stacking the kit away," said Verschoyle, "but that wasn't so bad." "Bad!" I cried. "It was miraculous!" "Circus-work all circus-work!" said Pigeon.
His indecision had entirely vanished now, and a visit to the Priory seemed the most desirable thing in the world. To think of Verschoyle not mentioning that he had a sister and such a sister! "I fear I must have seemed terribly rude when you first spoke to me, Mr. Meredith," she said, looking up into his face with a smile, as they proceeded along the path that skirted the field.
Capable of doing his share in the world's work, steadily exercising his best faculties, and mentally and physically invigorated by the process, he was almost unable to comprehend a man such as Verschoyle had come to be. "No; it would be of no use," summed up Verschoyle, eyeing him askance.
"Restoration?" "The putting the book back." Laurence Verschoyle dropped into a chair, gazing at the other with widely opened eyes. "Do you mean to say you did not? For Heaven's sake, tell me the truth, Meredith! You followed me to my room and brought the book back. I I saw you!" "That you did not, and could not have done, Verschoyle.
Where do you come from?" He might very well have asked what interest his relations with Verschoyle could have for her; but he felt that there was some grave reason underlying her anxiety, and was not inclined to take offence. Moreover, there was no necessity for mystery on his side; and, therefore, he might as well reply openly and directly to her question. "From Grayminster. My name is Meredith."
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