Ashton.
That Lord Hartledon's love for his children was intense there could be no
question about; but it was nevertheless of a peculiarly reticent nature.
He had rarely, if ever, been seen to caress them. The boy told tales of
how papa would kiss him, even weep over him, in solitude; but he would
not give him so much as an endearing name in the presence of others. Poor
Maude had called him all the pet names in a fond mother's vocabulary;
Lord Hartledon always called him Edward, and nothing more.
A few evenings after the funeral had taken place, Mirrable, who had been
into Calne, was hurrying back in the twilight. As she passed Jabez Gum's
gate, the clerk's wife was standing at it, talking to Mrs. Jones. The two
were laughing: Mrs. Gum seemed in a less depressed state than usual, and
the other less snappish.
"Is it you!" exclaimed Mrs. Jones, as Mirrable stopped. "I was just
saying I'd not set eyes on you in your new mourning."
"And laughing over it," returned Mirrable.
"No!" was Mrs. Jones's retort. "I'd been telling of a trick I served
Jones, and Nance was laughing at that. Silk and crepe! It's fine to be
you, Mrs. Mirrable!"
"How's Jabez, Nancy?" asked Mirrable, passing over Mrs. Jones's
criticism.
"He's gone to Garchester," replied Mrs. Gum, who was given to indirect
answers. "I thought I was never going to see you again, Mary."
"You could not expect to see me whilst the house was in its recent
state," answered Mirrable.
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