Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
"Very much. How should I not like it? They are so kind to me. And you
know, when I first resolved to come home, I thought I should have
to go out as a governess,--or, perhaps, as a nursery-maid, if they
didn't think me clever enough to teach. I did not expect my uncle to
be so good to me. I had never seen him, you know. Is it not odd that
my uncle is so little at home?"
"It is odd. He is writing a book, you see, and he finds that the air
of Fulham doesn't suit his brains."
"Oh, Mr. Newton!"
"And he likes to be quite alone. There isn't a better fellow going
than your uncle. I am sure I ought to say so. But he isn't just what
I should call,--sociable."
"I think him almost perfection;--but I do wish he was more at home
for their sakes. We'll go in now, Mr. Newton. Patience has gone in,
and I haven't seen Clarissa for ever so long."
Soon after this the guests began to go away. Mr. Truepeny gave Mrs.
Brownlow's hand the last squeeze, and Mr. Poojean remarked that
all terrestrial joys must have an end. "Not but that such hours as
these," said he, "have about them a dash of the celestial which
almost gives them a claim to eternity." "Horrible fool!" said
Clarissa to her sister, who was standing close to her.
"Mrs. Brownlow would, perhaps, prefer going to bed," said Ralph.
Then every one was gone except the Underwoods and Ralph Newton. The
girls had on their hats and shawls, and all was prepared for their
departure;--but there was some difficulty about the fly. The Fulham
fly which had brought them, and which always took them everywhere,
had hitherto omitted to return for them. It was ordered for half-past
ten, and now it was eleven. "Are you sure he was told?" said Clary.
Patience had told him herself,--twice. "Then he must be tipsy again,"
said Clary. Mrs. Brownlow bade them to sit still and wait; but when
the fly did not arrive by half-past eleven, it was necessary that
something should be done. There were omnibuses on the road, but they
might probably be full. "It is only two miles,--let us walk," said
Clary; and so it was decided.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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