As I afterwards learned, she had been passing a day at
Mrs. Drewett's villa, which joined her own, both standing on the rocks
quite near to that spot which a mawkish set among us is trying to
twist from plain homely, up-and-down, old fashioned Hell Gate, into
the exquisite and lackadaisical corruption of _Hurl_ Gate--Heaven
save the mark! What puny piece of folly and affectation will they
attempt next?--but Lucy was paying this visit when she received my
letter, and it appears such was her haste to get to Grace, that she
quitted the house immediately, leaving behind her a small work-box,
_unlocked_, and in it various papers that she did not wish
read. Of course, one of Lucy's sentiments and tone, could hardly
suspect a lady, and Mrs. Drewett was strictly that, of rummaging her
box or of reading her notes and letters; but one is never easy when
such things can be supposed to be in the way of impertinent
eyes. There are maids as well as mistresses, and I could see, in a
moment, that she wished the box was again in her own possession. Under
the circumstances, therefore, I felt it was time to interfere.
"If your sloop will round-to, Mr. Drewett," I remarked, receiving a
cold salutation from the gentleman, in return for my own bow, the
first sign of recognition that had passed between us, "I will
round-to, myself, and send a boat for the box.
Pages:
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801