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Not Very Fie Fie after All
It will perhaps be remembered that terrible things had been foretold
as about to happen between the Hartletop and Omnium families. Lady
Dumbello had smiled whenever Mr Plantagenet Palliser had spoken to
her. Mr Palliser had confessed to himself that politics were not
enough for him, and that Love was necessary to make up the full
complement of his happiness. Lord Dumbello had frowned latterly when
his eyes fell on the tall figure of the duke's heir; and the duke
himself,--that potentate, generally so mighty in his silence,--the
duke himself had spoken. Lady de Courcy and Lady Clandidlem were,
both of them, absolutely certain that the thing had been fully
arranged. I am, therefore, perfectly justified in stating that
the world was talking about the loves,--the illicit loves,--of Mr
Palliser and Lady Dumbello.
And the talking of the world found its way down to that respectable
country parsonage in which Lady Dumbello had been born, and from
which she had been taken away to those noble halls which she now
graced by her presence. The talking of the world was heard at
Plumstead Episcopi, where still lived Archdeacon Grantly, the lady's
father; and was heard also at the deanery of Barchester, where lived
the lady's aunt and grandfather. By whose ill-mannered tongue the
rumour was spread in these ecclesiastical regions it boots not now to
tell. But it may be remembered that Courcy Castle was not far from
Barchester, and that Lady de Courcy was not given to hide her lights
under a bushel.
It was a terrible rumour. To what mother must not such a rumour
respecting her daughter be very terrible? In no mother's ears could
it have sounded more frightfully than it did in those of Mrs Grantly.
Lady Dumbello, the daughter, might be altogether worldly; but Mrs
Grantly had never been more than half worldly. In one moiety of her
character, her habits, and her desires, she had been wedded to things
good in themselves,--to religion, to charity, and to honest-hearted
uprightness. It is true that the circumstances of her life had
induced her to serve both God and Mammon, and that, therefore, she
had gloried greatly in the marriage of her daughter with the heir
of a marquis. She had revelled in the aristocratic elevation of her
child, though she continued to dispense books and catechisms with
her own hands to the children of the labourers of Plumstead Episcopi.
When Griselda first became Lady Dumbello the mother feared somewhat
lest her child should find herself unequal to the exigencies of her
new position. But the child had proved herself more than equal to
them, and had mounted up to a dizzy height of success, which brought
to the mother great glory and great fear also. She delighted to think
that her Griselda was great even among the daughters of marquises;
but she trembled as she reflected how deadly would be the fall from
such a height--should there ever be a fall!
But she had never dreamed of such a fall as this! She would have
said,--indeed, she often had said,--to the archdeacon that Griselda's
religious principles were too firmly fixed to be moved by outward
worldly matters; signifying, it may be, her conviction that that
teaching of Plumstead Episcopi had so fastened her daughter into a
groove, that all the future teaching of Hartlebury would not suffice
to undo the fastenings. When she had thus boasted, no such idea as
that of her daughter running from her husband's house had ever come
upon her; but she had alluded to vices of a nature kindred to that
vice,--to vices into which other aristocratic ladies sometimes fell,
who had been less firmly grooved; and her boastings had amounted to
this,--that she herself had so successfully served God and Mammon
together, that her child might go forth and enjoy all worldly things
without risk of damage to things heavenly. Then came upon her this
rumour. The archdeacon told her in a hoarse whisper that he had been
recommended to look to it, that it was current through the world that
Griselda was about to leave her husband.
"Nothing on earth shall make me believe it," said Mrs Grantly. But
she sat alone in her drawing-room afterwards and trembled. Then came
her sister, Mrs Arabin, the dean's wife, over to the parsonage, and
in half-hidden words told the same story. She had heard it from Mrs
Proudie, the bishop's wife. "That woman is as false as the father of
falsehoods," said Mrs Grantly. But she trembled the more; and as she
prepared her parish work, could think of nothing but her child. What
would be all her life to come, what would have been all that was
past of her life, if this thing should happen to her? She would not
believe it; but yet she trembled the more as she thought of her
daughter's exaltation, and remembered that such things had been done
in that world to which Griselda now belonged. Ah! would it not have
been better for them if they had not raised their heads so high! And
she walked out alone among the tombs of the neighbouring churchyard,
and stood over the grave in which had been laid the body of her other
daughter. Could be it that the fate of that one had been the happier.
Very few words were spoken on the subject between her and the
archdeacon, and yet it seemed agreed among them that something should
be done. He went up to London, and saw his daughter,--not daring,
however, to mention such a subject. Lord Dumbello was cross with him,
and very uncommunicative. Indeed both the archdeacon and Mrs Grantly
had found that their daughter's house was not comfortable to them,
and as they were sufficiently proud among their own class they had
not cared to press themselves on the hospitality of their son-in-law.
But he had been able to perceive that all was not right in the house
in Carlton Gardens. Lord Dumbello was not gracious with his wife, and
there was something in the silence, rather than in the speech, of
men, which seemed to justify the report which had reached him.
"He is there oftener than he should be," said the archdeacon. "And I
am sure of this, at least, that Dumbello does not like it."
"I will write to her," said Mrs Grantly at last. "I am still her
mother;--I will write to her. It may be that she does not know what
people say of her."
And Mrs Grantly did write.
PLUMSTEAD, April, 186--.
It seems sometimes that you have been moved so far away
from me that I have hardly a right to concern myself more
in the affairs of your daily life, and I know that it is
impossible that you should refer to me for advice or
sympathy, as you would have done had you married some
gentleman of our own standing. But I am quite sure that my
child does not forget her mother, or fail to look back upon
her mother's love; and that she will allow me to speak to
her if she be in trouble, as I would to any other child
whom I had loved and cherished. I pray God that I may be
wrong in supposing that such trouble is near you. If I am
so you will forgive me my solicitude.
Rumours have reached us from more than one quarter
that--oh! Griselda, I hardly know in what words to conceal
and yet to declare that which I have to write. They say
that you are intimate with Mr Palliser, the nephew of the
duke, and that your husband is much offended. Perhaps I had
better tell you all, openly, cautioning you not to suppose
that I have believed it. They say that it is thought
that you are going to put yourself under Mr Palliser's
protection. My dearest child, I think you can imagine with
what agony I write these words,--with what terrible grief I
must have been oppressed before I could have allowed myself
to entertain the thoughts which have produced them. Such
things are said openly in Barchester, and your father, who
has been in town and has seen you, feels himself unable to
tell me that my mind may be at rest.
I will not say to you a word as to the injury in a worldly
point of view which would come to you from any rupture with
your husband. I believe that you can see what would be the
effect of so terrible a step quite as plainly as I can show
it you. You would break the heart of your father, and send
your mother to her grave;--but it is not even on that that
I may most insist. It is this,--that you would offend your
God by the worst sin that a woman can commit, and cast
yourself into a depth of infamy in which repentance before
God is almost impossible, and from which escape before man
is not permitted.
I do not believe it, my dearest, dearest child,--my only
living daughter; I do not believe what they have said to
me. But as a mother I have not dared to leave the slander
unnoticed. If you will write to me and say that it is not
so, you will make me happy again, even though you should
rebuke me for my suspicion.
Believe that at all times, and under all circumstances, I
am still your loving mother, as I was in other days.
We will now go back to Mr Palliser as he sat in his chambers at the
Albany, thinking of his love. The duke had cautioned him, and the
duke's agent had cautioned him; and he, in spite of his high feeling
of independence, had almost been made to tremble. All his thousands a
year were in the balance, and perhaps everything on which depended
his position before the world. But, nevertheless, though he did
tremble, he resolved to persevere. Statistics were becoming dry to
him, and love was very sweet. Statistics, he thought, might be made
as enchanting as ever, if only they could be mingled with love. The
mere idea of loving Lady Dumbello had seemed to give a salt to his
life of which he did not now know how to rob himself. It is true that
he had not as yet enjoyed many of the absolute blessings of love,
seeing that his conversations with Lady Dumbello had never been
warmer than those which have been repeated in these pages; but his
imagination had been at work; and now that Lady Dumbello was fully
established at her house in Carlton Gardens, he was determined to
declare his passion on the first convenient opportunity. It was
sufficiently manifest to him that the world expected him to do so,
and that the world was already a little disposed to find fault with
the slowness of his proceedings.
He had been once at Carlton Gardens since the season had commenced,
and the lady had favoured him with her sweetest smile. But he had
only been half a minute alone with her, and during that half-minute
had only time to remark that he supposed she would now remain in
London for the season.
"Oh, yes," she had answered, "we shall not leave till July."
Nor could he leave till July, because of the exigencies of his
statistics. He therefore had before him two, if not three, clear
months in which to manoeuvre, to declare his purposes, and prepare
for the future events of his life. As he resolved on a certain
morning that he would say his first tender word to Lady Dumbello that
very night, in the drawing-room of Lady de Courcy, where he knew that
he should meet her, a letter came to him by the post. He well knew
the hand and the intimation which it would contain. It was from the
duke's agent, Mr Fothergill, and informed him that a certain sum of
money had been placed to his credit at his banker's. But the letter
went further, and informed him also that the duke had given his agent
to understand that special instructions would be necessary before
the next quarterly payment could be made. Mr Fothergill said nothing
further, but Mr Palliser understood it all. He felt his blood run
cold round his heart; but, nevertheless, he determined that he would
not break his word to Lady de Courcy that night.
And Lady Dumbello received her letter also on the same morning. She
was being dressed as she read it, and the maidens who attended her
found no cause to suspect that anything in the letter had excited her
ladyship. Her ladyship was not often excited, though she was vigilant
in exacting from them their utmost cares. She read her letter,
however, very carefully, and as she sat beneath the toilet implements
of her maidens, thought deeply of the tidings which had been brought
to her. She was angry with no one;--she was thankful to no one. She
felt no special love for any person concerned in the matter. Her
heart did not say, "Oh, my lord and husband!" or "Oh, my lover!" or
"Oh, my mother, the friend of my childhood!" But she became aware
that matter for thought had been brought before her, and she did
think. "Send my love to Lord Dumbello," she said, when the operations
were nearly completed, "and tell him that I shall be so glad to see
him if he will come to me while I am at breakfast."
"Yes, my lady." And then the message came back: "His lordship would
be with her ladyship certainly."
"Gustavus," she said, as soon as she had seated herself discreetly in
her chair, "I have had a letter from my mother, which you had better
read;" and she handed to him the document. "I do not know what I
have done to deserve such suspicions from her; but she lives in the
country, and has probably been deceived by ill-natured people. At any
rate you must read it, and tell me what I should do."
We may predicate from this that Mr Palliser's chance of being able to
shipwreck himself upon that rock was but small, and that he would, in
spite of himself, be saved from his uncle's anger. Lord Dumbello took
the letter and read it very slowly, standing, as he did so, with
his back to the fire. He read it very slowly, and his wife, though
she never turned her face directly upon his, could perceive that he
became very red, that he was fluttered and put beyond himself, and
that his answer was not ready. She was well aware that his conduct
to her during the last three months had been much altered from his
former usages; that he had been rougher with her in his speech when
alone, and less courteous in his attention when in society; but she
had made no complaint or spoken a word to show him that she had
marked the change. She had known, moreover, the cause of his altered
manner, and having considered much, had resolved that she would live
it down. She had declared to herself that she had done no deed and
spoken no word that justified suspicion, and therefore she would make
no change in her ways, or show herself to be conscious that she was
suspected. But now,--having her mother's letter in her hand,--she
could bring him to an explanation without making him aware that
she had ever thought that he had been jealous of her. To her, her
mother's letter was a great assistance. It justified a scene like
this, and enabled her to fight her battle after her own fashion. As
for eloping with any Mr Palliser, and giving up the position which
she had won;--no, indeed! She had been fastened in her grooves
too well for that! Her mother, in entertaining any fear on such a
subject, had shown herself to be ignorant of the solidity of her
"Well, Gustavus," she said at last. "You must say what answer I shall
make, or whether I shall make any answer." But he was not even yet
ready to instruct her. So he unfolded the letter and read it again,
and she poured out for herself a cup of tea.
"It's a very serious matter," said he.
"Yes, it is serious; I could not but think such a letter from my
mother to be serious. Had it come from any one else I doubt whether
I should have troubled you; unless, indeed, it had been from any as
near to you as she is to me. As it is, you cannot but feel that I am
"Right! Oh, yes, you are right,--quite right to tell me; you should
tell me everything. D---- them!" But whom he meant to condemn he did
"I am above all things averse to cause you trouble," she said. "I
have seen some little things of late--"
"Has he ever said anything to you?"
"Who,--Mr Palliser? Never a word."
"He has hinted at nothing of this kind?"
"Never a word. Had he done so, I must have made you understand that
he could not have been allowed again into my drawing-room." Then
again he read the letter, or pretended to do so.
"Your mother means well," he said.
"Oh, yes, she means well. She has been foolish to believe the
tittle-tattle that has reached her,--very foolish to oblige me to
give you this annoyance."
"Oh, as for that, I'm not annoyed. By Jove, no. Come, Griselda, let
us have it all out; other people have said this, and I have been
unhappy. Now, you know it all."
"Have I made you unhappy?"
"Well, no; not you. Don't be hard upon me when I tell you the whole
truth. Fools and brutes have whispered things that have vexed me.
They may whisper till the devil fetches them, but they shan't annoy
me again. Give me a kiss, my girl." And he absolutely put out his
arms and embraced her. "Write a good-natured letter to your mother,
and ask her to come up for a week in May. That'll be the best thing;
and then she'll understand. By Jove, it's twelve o'clock. Goodbye."
Lady Dumbello was well aware that she had triumphed, and that her
mother's letter had been invaluable to her. But it had been used, and
therefore she did not read it again. She ate her breakfast in quiet
comfort, looking over a milliner's French circular as she did so; and
then, when the time for such an operation had fully come, she got to
her writing-table and answered her mother's letter.
DEAR MAMMA [she said],
I thought it best to show your letter at once to Lord
Dumbello. He said that people would be ill-natured, and
seemed to think that the telling of such stories could not
be helped. As regards you, he was not a bit angry, but said
that you and papa had better come to us for a week about
the end of next month. Do come. We are to have rather a
large dinner-party on the 23rd. His Royal Highness is
coming, and I think papa would like to meet him. Have you
observed that those very high bonnets have all gone out: I
never, liked them; and as I had got a hint from Paris, I
have been doing my best to put them down. I do hope nothing
will prevent your coming.
Your affectionate daughter,
CARLTON GARDENS, Wednesday.
Mrs Grantly was aware, from the moment in which she received the
letter, that she had wronged her daughter by her suspicions. It did
not occur to her to disbelieve a word that was said in the letter,
or an inference that was implied. She had been wrong, and rejoiced
that it was so. But nevertheless there was that in the letter which
annoyed and irritated her, though she could not explain to herself
the cause of her annoyance. She had thrown all her heart into that
which she had written, but in the words which her child had written,
not a vestige of heart was to be found. In that reconciling of God
and Mammon which Mrs Grantly had carried on so successfully in the
education of her daughter, the organ had not been required, and had
become withered, if not defunct, through want of use.
"We will not go there, I think," said Mrs Grantly, speaking to her
"Oh dear, no; certainly not. If you want to go to town at all, I will
take rooms for you. And as for his Royal Highness--! I have a great
respect for his Royal Highness, but I do not in the least desire to
meet him at Dumbello's table."
And so that matter was settled, as regarded the inhabitants of
And whither did Lord Dumbello betake himself when he left his wife's
room in so great a hurry at twelve o'clock? Not to the Park, nor to
Tattersall's, nor to a committee-room of the House of Commons, nor
yet to the bow-window of his club. But he went straight to a great
jeweller's in Ludgate Hill, and there purchased a wonderful green
necklace, very rare and curious, heavy with green sparkling drops,
with three rows of shining green stones embedded in chaste gold,
--a necklace amounting almost to a jewelled cuirass in weight and
extent. It had been in all the exhibitions, and was very costly and
magnificent. While Lady Dumbello was still dressing in the evening
this was brought to her with her lord's love, as his token of renewed
confidence; and Lady Dumbello, as she counted the sparkles, triumphed
inwardly, telling herself that she had played her cards well.
But while she counted the sparkles produced by her full
reconciliation with her lord, poor Plantagenet Palliser was still
trembling in his ignorance. If only he could have been allowed to see
Mrs Grantly's letter, and the lady's answer, and the lord's present!
But no such seeing was vouchsafed to him, and he was carried off in
his brougham to Lady de Courcy's house, twittering with expectant
love, and trembling with expectant ruin. To this conclusion he had
come at any rate, that if anything was to be done, it should be
done now. He would speak a word of love, and prepare his future in
accordance with the acceptance it might receive.
Lady de Courcy's rooms were very crowded when he arrived there. It
was the first great crushing party of the season, and all the world
had been collected into Portman Square. Lady de Courcy was smiling as
though her lord had no teeth, as though her eldest son's condition
was quite happy, and all things were going well with the de Courcy
interests. Lady Margaretta was there behind her, bland without and
bitter within; and Lady Rosina also, at some further distance,
reconciled to this world's vanity and finery because there was to
be no dancing. And the married daughters of the house were there
also, striving to maintain their positions on the strength of their
undoubted birth, but subjected to some snubbing by the lowness
of their absolute circumstances. Gazebee was there, happy in the
absolute fact of his connection with an earl, and blessed with the
consideration that was extended to him as an earl's son-in-law. And
Crosbie, also, was in the rooms,--was present there, though he had
sworn to himself that he would no longer dance attendance on the
countess, and that he would sever himself away from the wretchedness
of the family. But if he gave up them and their ways, what else would
then be left to him? He had come, therefore, and now stood alone,
sullen in a corner, telling himself that all was vanity. Yes; to the
vain all will be vanity; and to the poor of heart all will be poor.
Lady Dumbello was there in a small inner room, seated on a couch to
which she had been brought on her first arrival at the house, and
on which she would remain till she departed. From time to time some
very noble or very elevated personage would come before her and say
a word, and she would answer that elevated personage with another
word; but nobody had attempted with her the task of conversation. It
was understood that Lady Dumbello did not converse,--unless it were
occasionally with Mr Palliser.
She knew well that Mr Palliser was to meet her there. He had told
her expressly that he should do so, having inquired, with much
solicitude, whether she intended to obey the invitation of the
countess. "I shall probably be there," she had said, and now had
determined that her mother's letter and her husband's conduct to her
should not cause her to break her word. Should Mr Palliser "forget"
himself, she would know how to say a word to him as she had known how
to say a word to her husband. Forget himself! She was very sure that
Mr Palliser had been making up his mind to forget himself for some
He did come to her, and stood over her, looking unutterable things.
His unutterable things, however, were so looked, that they did not
absolutely demand notice from the lady. He did not sigh like a
furnace, nor open his eyes upon her as though there were two suns in
the firmament above her head, nor did he beat his breast or tear his
hair. Mr Palliser had been brought up in a school which delights in
tranquillity, and never allows its pupils to commit themselves either
to the sublime or to the ridiculous. He did look an unutterable thing
or two; but he did it with so decorous an eye, that the lady, who was
measuring it all with great accuracy, could not, as yet, declare that
Mr Palliser had "forgotten himself."
There was room by her on the couch, and once or twice, at Hartlebury,
he had ventured so to seat himself. On the present occasion, however,
he could not do so without placing himself manifestly on her dress.
She would have known how to fill a larger couch even than that,--as
she would have known, also, how to make room,--had it been her mind
to do so. So he stood still over her, and she smiled at him. Such
a smile! It was cold as death, flattering no one, saying nothing,
hideous in its unmeaning, unreal grace. Ah! how I hate the smile
of a woman who smiles by rote! It made Mr Palliser feel very
uncomfortable,--but he did not analyse it, and persevered.
"Lady Dumbello," he said, and his voice was very low, "I have been
looking forward to meeting you here."
"Have you, Mr Palliser? Yes; I remember that you asked me whether I
"I did. Hm--Lady Dumbello!" and he almost trenched upon the outside
verge of that schooling which had taught him to avoid both the
sublime and the ridiculous. But he had not forgotten himself as yet,
and so she smiled again.
"Lady Dumbello, in this world in which we live, it is so hard to get
a moment in which we can speak." He had thought that she would move
her dress, but she did not.
"Oh, I don't know," she said; "one doesn't often want to say very
much, I think."
"Ah, no; not often, perhaps. But when one does want! How I do
hate these crowded rooms!" Yet, when he had been at Hartlebury he
had resolved that the only ground for him would be the crowded
drawing-room of some large London house. "I wonder whether you ever
desire anything beyond them?"
"Oh, yes," said she; "but I confess that I am fond of parties."
Mr Palliser looked round and thought that he saw that he was
unobserved. He had made up his mind as to what he would do, and he
was determined to do it. He had in him none of that readiness which
enables some men to make love and carry off their Dulcineas at a
moment's notice, but he had that pluck which would have made himself
disgraceful in his own eyes if he omitted to do that as to the doing
of which he had made a solemn resolution. He would have preferred to
do it sitting, but, _faute de mieux_, seeing that a seat was denied
to him, he would do it standing.
"Griselda," he said,--and it must be admitted that his tone was not
bad. The word sank softly into her ear, like small rain upon moss,
and it sank into no other ear. "Griselda!"
"Mr Palliser!" said she;--and though she made no scene, though she
merely glanced upon him once, he could see that he was wrong.
"May I not call you so?"
"Certainly not. Shall I ask you to see if my people are there?" He
stood a moment before her, hesitating. "My carriage, I mean." As she
gave the command she glanced at him again, and then he obeyed her
When he returned she had left her seat; but he heard her name
announced on the stairs, and caught a glance of the back of her head
as she made her way gracefully down through the crowd. He never
attempted to make love to her again, utterly disappointing the hopes
of Lady de Courcy, Mrs Proudie, and Lady Clandidlem.
As I would wish those who are interested in Mr Palliser's fortunes
to know the ultimate result of this adventure, and as we shall not
have space to return to his affairs in this little history, I may,
perhaps, be allowed to press somewhat forward, and tell what Fortune
did for him before the close of that London season. Everybody knows
that in that spring Lady Glencora MacCluskie was brought out before
the world, and it is equally well known that she, as the only child
of the late Lord of the Isles, was the great heiress of the day. It
is true that the hereditary possession of Skye, Staffa, Mull, Arran,
and Bute went, with the title, to the Marquis of Auldreekie, together
with the counties of Caithness and Ross-shire. But the property in
Fife, Aberdeen, Perth, and Kincardineshire, comprising the greater
part of those counties, and the coal-mines in Lanark, as well as the
enormous estate within the city of Glasgow, were unentailed, and went
to the Lady Glencora. She was a fair girl, with bright blue eyes and
short wavy flaxen hair, very soft to the eye. The Lady Glencora was
small in stature, and her happy round face lacked, perhaps, the
highest grace of female beauty. But there was ever a smile upon it,
at which it was very pleasant to look; and the intense interest with
which she would dance, and talk, and follow up every amusement that
was offered her, was very charming. The horse she rode was the
dearest love--oh! she loved him so dearly! And she had a little
dog that was almost as dear as the horse. The friend of her youth,
Sabrina Scott, was--oh, such a girl! And her cousin, the little Lord
of the Isles, the heir of the marquis, was so gracious and beautiful
that she was always covering him with kisses. Unfortunately he was
only six, so that there was hardly a possibility that the properties
should be brought together.
But Lady Glencora, though she was so charming, had even in this, her
first outset upon the world, given great uneasiness to her friends,
and caused the Marquis of Auldreekie to be almost wild with dismay.
There was a terribly handsome man about town, who had spent every
shilling that anybody would give him, who was very fond of brandy,
who was known, but not trusted, at Newmarket, who was said to be deep
in every vice, whose father would not speak to him;--and with him the
Lady Glencora was never tired of dancing. One morning she had told
her cousin the marquis, with a flashing eye,--for the round blue eye
could flash,--that Burgo Fitzgerald was more sinned against than
sinning. Ah me! what was a guardian marquis, anxious for the fate of
the family property, to do under such circumstances as that?
But before the end of the season the marquis and the duke were
both happy men, and we will hope that the Lady Glencora also was
satisfied. Mr Plantagenet Palliser had danced with her twice, and had
spoken his mind. He had an interview with the marquis, which was
preeminently satisfactory, and everything was settled. Glencora no
doubt told him how she had accepted that plain gold ring from Burgo
Fitzgerald, and how she had restored it; but I doubt whether she ever
told him of that wavy lock of golden hair which Burgo still keeps in
his receptacle for such treasures.
"Plantagenet," said the duke, with quite unaccustomed warmth, "in
this, as in all things, you have shown yourself to be everything that
I could desire. I have told the marquis that Matching Priory, with
the whole estate, should be given over to you at once. It is the most
comfortable country-house I know. Glencora shall have The Horns as
her wedding present."
But the genial, frank delight of Mr Fothergill pleased Mr Palliser
the most. The heir of the Pallisers had done his duty, and Mr
Fothergill was unfeignedly a happy man.
|Art of Worldly Wisdom Daily|
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