CHAPTER VII.
“Would not any man in his senses run diametrically from you, and as far as his legs would carry him, rather than thus carelessly, foolishly, and foolhardily expose himself afresh and afresh, where his heart and his reason tell him he shall be sure to come off loser, if not totally undone?”—Sterne.
Next day was Sunday. I met my relatives at church, and returned with them to an early dinner at Grove End. Whilst at church I had not particularly noticed Conny’s manner, but as we walked to the house it struck me that she appeared very downcast. On the other hand, Mrs. Hargrave was in high spirits, undamped by a long and tedious sermon, and unrestrained by any sense of the solemnity of the day. She carried on quite a little flirtation with her husband, who submitted to her playfulness very amiably, and, whilst I walked between her and her daughter, entertained me with various reminiscenses of her young days, and of Thomas’s courtship.
“He was absurdly in love with me,” she observed, referring to her patient helpmate. “He wouldn’t like me to tell you what he threatened to do if I refused to marry him.”
“Come, come,” said my uncle, “Charlie would rather read a chapter of English History, and learn a good deal at once.”
“I don’t understand,” returned my aunt. “I didn’t know that we had anything to do with history.”
“What you are talking about occurred in George the Fourth’s reign. There were wars and civil dissensions in those days which Charlie would rather hear about.”
“Don’t let your husband silence you,” said I. “Of course he was absurdly in love with you. What do you think, Conny?”
“I didn’t live in those days,” answered Conny absently.