Pretty enough it is, perhaps: but in your
haste to say a pretty thing, just because it was pretty, you have not
cared to condemn yourself out of your own mouth. Why were you sulky,
sir, with Mrs. Vavasour this very morning, after all that passed,
because she would look over the washing-books, while you wanted her to
hear about Fra Dolcino? And why, though she was up to her knees among
your dirty shirts when you went out, did you not give her one parting
kiss, which would have transfigured her virtuous drudgery for her into
a sacred pleasure? One is heartily glad to see you disturbed, cross
though you may look at it, by that sturdy step and jolly whistle which
burst in on you from the other end of the chasm, as Tom Thurnall, with
an old smock frock over his coat and a large basket on his arm, comes
stumbling and hopping towards you, dropping every now and then on
hands and knees, and turning over on his back, to squeeze his head
into some muddy crack, and then withdraw it with the salt water
dripping down his nose.
Elsley closed his eyes, and rested his head on his hand in a somewhat
studied "pose." But as he wished not to be interrupted, it may not
have been altogether unpardonable to pretend sleep. However, the
sleeping posture had exactly the opposite effect to that which he
designed.
"Ah, Mr. Vavasour!"
"Humph!" quoth he slowly, if not sulkily.
"I admire your taste, sir; a charming summerhouse old Triton has
vacated for your use; but let me advise you not to go to sleep in it.
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