David felt guilty, he
scarce knew why.
The promised happiness was wormwood. On dismounting, she went to the
lawn to tend her flowers. David followed her, and said bitterly, "I am
sorry I came to spoil your pleasure."
Miss Fountain made no answer.
"I thought I might have one ride with you, when others have so many."
"Why, of course, Mr. Dodd. If you like to expose yourself to ridicule,
it is no affair of mine." The lady's manner was a happy mixture of
frigidity and crossness. David stood benumbed, and Lucy, having
emptied her flower-pot, glided indoors without taking any farther
notice of him.
David stood rooted to the spot. Then he gave a heavy sigh, and went
and leaned against one of the pillars of the portico, and everything
seemed to swim before his eyes.
Presently he heard a female voice inquire, "Is Miss Lucy at home?" He
looked, and there was a tall, strapping woman in conference with
Henry. She had on a large bonnet with flaunting ribbons, and a bushy
cap infuriated by red flowers. Henry's eye fell upon these
embellishments: "Not at home," chanted he, sonorously.
"Eh, dear," said the woman sadly, "I have come a long way to see her."
"Not at home, ma'am," repeated Henry, like a vocal machine.
"My name is Wilson, young man," said she, persuasively, and the
Amazon's voice was mellow and womanly, spite of her coal-scuttle full
of field poppies. "I am her nurse, and I have not seen her this five
years come Martinmas;" and the Amazon gave a gentle sigh of
disappointment.
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