"It's my stick," Mrs. Fisher complacently remarked at intervals.
And when they rested at those bends of the zigzag path where
seats were, and Lady Caroline, who would have liked to run on and get
to the top quickly, was forced in common humanity to remain with Mrs.
Fisher because of her stick, Mrs. Fisher told her how she had been on a
zigzag path once with Tennyson.
"Isn't his cricket wonderful?" said Lady Caroline absently.
"The Tennyson," said Mrs. Fisher, turning her head and observing
her a moment over her spectacles.
"Isn't he?" said Lady Caroline.
"And it was a path, too," Mrs. Fisher went on severely,
"curiously like this. No eucalyptus tree, of course, but otherwise
curiously like this. And at one of the bends he turned and said to
me--I see him now turning and saying to me--"
Yes, Mrs. Fisher would have to be checked. And so would these
two up at the window. She had better begin at once. She was sorry she
had got off the wall. All she need have done was to have waved her
hand, and waited till they came down and out into the garden to her.
So she ignored Mrs. Arbuthnot's remark and raised forefinger, and
said with marked coldness--at least, she tried to make it sound marked--
that she supposed they would be going to breakfast, and that she had
had hers; but it was her fate that however coldly she sent forth her
words they came out sounding quite warm and agreeable.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97