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Updated: June 2, 2025
The little Watsons were behaving so well that even with her rheumatism to help her vision she could find no fault with them, "just now"; but she reckoned the mischief "was hatchin'." A change was taking place in Mrs. McGuire, although she was unconscious of it; Mary Barner, who was a frequent and welcome visitor, was having an influence even on the flinty heart of the relict of the late McGuire.
But Pamela talked quite naturally about her brother, and gave no hint that she knew of any reason why Jean should blush when his name was mentioned. "And how are all the people the Jowetts and the Watsons and the Dawsons? And the dear Macdonalds? I picked up a book in Edinburgh that I think Mr. Macdonald will like. And Lewis Elliot have you seen him lately, Jean?" "He's away. Didn't you know?
Towards morning her discourse ran on a new theme: "the Watsons," a certain expected family-party of passengers, known to her, it appeared, and by her much esteemed on account of the handsome profit realized in their fees. She said, "It was as good as a little fortune to her whenever this family crossed." At dawn all were astir, and by sunrise the passengers came on board.
Beaufort, looking up from her work. "Watson, an Oxford man. By the by, I must introduce him to you." "Watson! what Watson? what family of Watson? Some Watsons are good and some are bad," said Mrs. Beaufort, musingly. "Then they are very unlike the rest of mankind," observed Lord Lilburne, drily.
M'Cosh and Miss Bathgate took their seats "on the chap," as the latter put it. The two Miss Watsons, surprisingly enough, were also present. They had come along after supper with a small present for Jean, had asked to see her, and stood lingering on the doorstep refusing to come farther, but obviously reluctant to depart.
We hurried upstairs to the room occupied by Austin Graham, and there found him lying on the bed with his eyes almost, but not quite, shut. "Where was he to-night dining with you at mess?" I asked, raising one heavy lid with my finger. "No, he dined with the Watsons." "When did you last see him?" "About ten o'clock at my quarters.
'Then Lizzie has even less brains than I supposed, said David composedly, 'seeing that she had only to look out of a back window. What are you going to do with him? 'Take him out with me, of course. There are the Watsons of Fallowfield, they pestered me to bring him, and they're at home Saturdays. And aren't you coming too?
They have allowed him to go to the attic and rummage in the big sea-chests which, he says, are chockful of treasures like ostrich eggs and lumps of coral and Chinese idols. It seems the Miss Watsons won't have these treasures downstairs as they don't look genteel among the 'new art' ornaments admired in Balmoral. So few people welcome that marauder."
"You don't mean to tell me that the Harveys have sent for your father?" "Yes, mother, I do; and is not that good news? The little girl is very ill, and Squire Harvey came over to fetch father last night that time when the bell rang so suddenly." "I remember," said Mrs. Staunton. "I made sure that someone came from the Watsons'." "No; it was the Squire who called Squire Harvey.
She always did like comp'ny; but she was afraid the childer would catch cowld, they were dressed so loight for so late in the season. She picked up the last pailful as she spoke, and retired into her own house, leaving the Watson family to do the same. Mrs. Watson counselled peace. John ate his breakfast in silence; but the young Watsons, and even Pearlie, thirsted for revenge.
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