Candy's lost recollection,
without the necessity of appealing to Mr. Candy himself."
"Indeed? Is it an indiscretion, on my part, to ask how?"
"By no means. My only difficulty in answering your question, is the
difficulty of explaining myself. May I trust to your patience, if I
refer once more to Mr. Candy's illness: and if I speak of it this time
without sparing you certain professional details?"
"Pray go on! You have interested me already in hearing the details."
My eagerness seemed to amuse--perhaps, I might rather say, to please
him. He smiled again. We had by this time left the last houses in the
town behind us. Ezra Jennings stopped for a moment, and picked some wild
flowers from the hedge by the roadside. "How beautiful they are!" he
said, simply, showing his little nosegay to me. "And how few people in
England seem to admire them as they deserve!"
"You have not always been in England?" I said.
"No. I was born, and partly brought up, in one of our colonies. My
father was an Englishman; but my mother--We are straying away
from our subject, Mr. Blake; and it is my fault. The truth is, I have
associations with these modest little hedgeside flowers--It doesn't
matter; we were speaking of Mr.
Pages:
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710