Children of clergy -- Fiction; Christian fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
"No. I don't suppose any one there ever thought of asking such a
dingy-feathered bird to sing."
"You had some music?"
"Oh, yes! Pretty good, and very bad. Miss Clare's forehead was crossed by
no end of flickering shadows as she listened."
"It wasn't for want of interest in her you forgot to find out where she
lived! You had better take care, Master Roger."
"Take care of what?"
"Why, you don't know her address."
"What has that to do with taking care?"
"That you won't know where to find your heart if you should happen to want
it."
"Oh! I am past that kind of thing long ago. You've made an uncle of me."
And so on, with a good deal more nonsense, but no news of Miss Clare's
retreat.
I had before this remarked to my husband that it was odd she had never
called since dining with us; but he made little of it, saying that people
who gained their own livelihood ought to be excused from attending to rules
which had their origin with another class; and I had thought no more about
it, save in disappointment that she had not given me that opportunity of
improving my acquaintance with her.
CHAPTER XVI.
A DISCOVERY.
One Saturday night, my husband happening to be out, an event of rare
occurrence, Roger called; and as there were some things I had not been able
to get during the day, I asked him to go with me to Tottenham Court Road.
It was not far from the region where we lived, and I did a great part of my
small shopping there. The early closing had, if I remember rightly, begun
to show itself; anyhow, several of the shops were shut, and we walked a
long way down the street, looking for some place likely to supply what I
required.
"It was just here I came up with the girl and the brown jug," said Roger,
as we reached the large dissenting chapel.
"That adventure seems to have taken a great hold of you, Roger," I said.
"She _was_ so like Miss Clare!" he returned. "I can't get the one face
clear of the other. When I met her at Lady Bernard's, the first thing I
thought of was the brown jug."
"Were you as much pleased with her conversation as at our house?" I asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account