Oh! When the year is up, will the "monotonous complacency" have set in?
V
The days are flying by. October has almost come, and the damp and the falling leaves. It will soon be time for Mrs. Gurrage to depart for Bournemouth.
Augustus is in a continual ferment, as the report that the rest of the Tilchester Yeomanry are going to volunteer for active service has cropped up frequently, and, while he likes the uniform and what he considers the prestige of belonging to such a corps, he has no ardor for using his weapons against the Boers.
I have tried very hard to take an interest in the matter, but the numbness has returned. The oppression of the surroundings at Ledstone cramps my spirit.
We have had several "parties"—batches of Gurrage relations—one or two really awful people. And some days ago I was bidden to write and invite the guests for the first big partridge drive.
"The mater will be gone to Bournemouth," Augustus said, "and you'll have to stand on your own legs."
Matrimony has not cured him of his habit of using horrid phrases.
He has often been very rude to me lately, and has taken to going more frequently to town for the day, and stays away for a night or two sometimes.
These seem to me as holidays, and I have never thought of asking him where he has been, although he comes back with an apologetic air of a guilty school-boy which ought to excite my jealousy, I feel sure.