Poor Mrs. St.
Leonard! I cannot help feeling sorry for her. She would have been
so happy as the wife of a really respectable City man, who would have
gone off every morning with a flower in his buttonhole and have worn
a white waistcoat on Sundays. I don't believe what they say: that
husbands and wives should be the opposite of one another. Mr. St.
Leonard ought to have married a brainy woman, who would have
discussed philosophy with him, and have been just as happy drinking
beer out of a tea-cup: you know the sort I mean. If ever I marry it
will be a short-tempered man who loves music and is a good dancer;
and if I find out too late that he's clever I'll run away from him.
"Dick has not yet come home--nearly eight o'clock. Veronica is
supposed to be in bed, but I can hear things falling. Poor boy! I
expect he'll be tired; but today is an exception. Three hundred
sheep have had to be brought all the way from Ilsley, and must be
'herded'--I fancy it is called--before anybody can think of supper.
I saw to it that he had a good dinner.
"And now to come to business. Young Bute has been here all day, and
has only just left. He is coming down again on Friday--which, by the
way, don't forget is Mrs. St. Leonard's 'At Home' day. She hopes she
may then have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, and thinks
that possibly there may be present one or two people we may like to
know.
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