Gaff returned to the “Boodwar,” lit his German pipe with the cheque, and said, “I knowed she wouldn’t tak’ it—dear girl.”
Kenneth was standing in the bower at the foot of my garden, looking pensively on the distant landscape, which was bathed in the rich glow of the setting sun. His right arm embraced the slender waist of Lizzie—his left encircled the shoulder of Emmie Graham.
“We must have patience, darling,” said Kenneth, with an effort at cheerfulness.
“Our hopes were as bright as that lovely sky some days ago,” said Lizzie.
While she was speaking the sun descended behind a bank of heavy clouds.
“And thus have our hopes gone down,” murmured Kenneth sadly.
“But, uncle,” observed Emmie, “the sun is still shining behind the clouds.”
“Thank you, Emmie, for the comforting word,” said Lizzie, “and our sun is indeed shining still.”
The trio left off contemplating the sky, and returned in improved spirits to Bingley Hall, where my strong-minded wife had just delivered herself of the following oration:—
“It’s of no use talking to me,” (she was right; I never found it to be of the least use to talk to her.) “Old Stuart is a monster—nobody will convince me to the contrary. I only wish I had the making of the laws, and I would have powerful cures got up for such as he. And his brother-in-law is no better—Crusty indeed, bad though it is, the name is too good for him. Don’t interrupt me. He is not like many of his neighbours, for he has had no provocation. The captain of dragoons has turned out a very good husband, and poor Bella is as happy with him as such a flirt could expect to be.”