When she entered the houseplace she put the bright kettle on the hob,
and took out her silver teapot and her best cups of lovely crown Derby.
And as she moved about in her quiet, hospitable way they began to talk
of Stephen. "Was he well?"--"Yes, he was well, but there were things
that might be better. I thought when he went to Bradford," continued
Ducie, "that he would at least be learning something that he might be
the better of in the long end; and that in a mill he would over-get his
notions about sheepskins being spun into golden fleeces. But he doesn't
seem to get any new light that way, and Up-Hill is not doing well
without him. Fold and farm are needing the master's eye and hand; and it
will be a poor lambing season for us, I think, wanting Steve. And, deary
me, Charlotte, one word from you would bring him home!"
Charlotte stooped, and lifted the tortoise-shell cat, lying on the rug
at her feet. She was not fond of cats, and she was only attentive to
puss as the best means of hiding her blushes. Ducie understood the
small, womanly ruse, and waited no other answer. "What is the matter
with the squire, Charlotte? Does he think that Stephen isn't good enough
to marry you? I'll not say that Latrigg evens Sandal in all things, but
I will say that there are very few families that can even Latrigg. We
have been without reproach,--good women, honest men; not afraid of any
face of clay, though it wore a crown above it.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151