CHAPTER IX
June twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy and unsettled at
sunrise, but towards noon it cleared up bravely.
We, in the servants' hall, began this happy anniversary, as usual, by
offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with the regular speech
delivered annually by me as the chief. I follow the plan adopted by the
Queen in opening Parliament--namely, the plan of saying much the same
thing regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my speech (like the
Queen's) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind had ever
been heard before. When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the
novelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, they look forward
hopefully to something newer next year. An easy people to govern, in the
Parliament and in the Kitchen--that's the moral of it. After breakfast,
Mr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the subject of the
Moonstone--the time having now come for removing it from the bank at
Frizinghall, and placing it in Miss Rachel's own hands.
Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin again, and had got
a rebuff--or whether his broken rest, night after night, was aggravating
the queer contradictions and uncertainties in his character--I don't
know.
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