Andrew Drewett waited, I thought, with most commendable patience
for Grace to squeeze Lucy's hand, and to murmur her own felicitations,
when he ventured to add--
"You were about to say something, Miss Hardinge?"
"Was I--I declare I have forgotten what it was. Such a surprise--such
a joyful, blessed surprise--I beg pardon, Mr. Drewett--ah. I remember
now; I was about to say that this is Mr. Miles Wallingford, of
Clawbonny, the gentleman who is my father's ward--Grace's brother, you
know."
"And how related to yourself, Miss Hardinge?" the gentleman continued,
a little perseveringly.
"To me! Oh! very, very near--that is--I forget so much this
evening--why, not at all."
It was at this moment Mr. Drewett saw fit to make his parting
salutations with studied decorum, and to take his leave in a manner so
polite, that, though tempted, I could not, just at the moment, stop
the current of my feelings, to admire. No one seemed to miss him,
however, and we five, who remained, were soon seated in the spot I
have mentioned, and as much abstracted from the scene around us, as if
we had been on the rustic bench, under the old elm, on the lawn--if I
dare use so fine a word, for so unpretending a place--at Clawbonny. I
had my station between Mr. Hardinge and Grace, while Lucy sat next her
father, and Rupert next to my sister.
Pages:
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539