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unmistakeable distinctness。 “Please to stop the carriage。”
The carriage is stopped； the affectionate man alights from the
rumble； opens the door； and lets down the steps； obedient to an
impatient motion of my Lady’s hand。 My Lady alights so quickly；
and walks away so quickly； that Sir Leicester； for all his
scrupulous politeness is unable to assist her； and is left behind。 A
space of a minute or two has elapsed before he comes up with her。
She smiles； looks very handsome； takes his arm； lounges with him
for a quarter of a mile； is very much bored； and resumes her seat
in the carriage。
The rattle and clatter continue through the greater part of three
days； with more or less of bell…jingling and whip…cracking； and
more or less plunging of Centaurs and bare…backed horses。 Their
courtly politeness to each other； at the Hotels where they tarry； is
the theme of general admiration。 Though my Lord is a little aged
for my Lady； says Madame； the hostess of the Golden Ape； and
though he might be her amiable father； one can see at a glance
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that they love each other。 One observes my Lord with his white
hair； standing； hat in hand； to help my Lady to and from the
carriage。 One observes my Lady； how recognisant of my Lord’s
politeness； with an inclination of her gracious head； and the
concession of her so…genteel fingers！ It is ravishing！
The sea has no appreciation of great men； but knocks them
about like small fry。 It is habitually hard upon Sir Leicester； whose
countenance it greenly mottles in the manner of sage…cheese； and
in whose aristocratic system it effects a dismal revolution。 It is the
Radical of Nature to him。 Nevertheless； his dignity gets over it；
after stopping to refit： and he goes on with my Lady for Chesney
Wold； lying only one night in London on the way to Lincolnshire。
Through the same cold sunlight—colder as the day declines；—
and through the same sharp wind—sharper as the separate
shadows of bare trees gloom together in the woods； and as the
Ghost’s Walk； touched at the western corner by a pile of fire in the
sky； resigns itself to coming night；—they drive into the park。 The
Rooks； swinging in their lofty houses in the elm…tree avenue； seem
to discuss the question of the occupancy of the carriage as it
passes underneath； some agreeing that Sir Leicester and my Lady
are come down； some arguing with malcontents who won’t admit
it； now； all consenting to consider the question disposed of； now；
all breaking out again in violent debate； incited by one obstinate
and drowsy bird； who will persist in putting in a last contradictory
croak。 Leaving them to swing and caw； the travelling chariot rolls
on to the house； where fires gleam warmly through some of the
windows； though not through so many as to give an inhabited
expression to the darkening mass of front。 But the brilliant and
distinguished circle will soon do that。
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Mrs Rouncewell is in attendance； and receives Sir Leicester’s
customary shake of the hand with a profound curtsey。
“How do you do； Mrs Rouncewell？ I am glad to see you。”
“I hope I have the honour of welcoming you in good health； Sir
Leicester？”
“In excellent health； Mrs Rouncewell。”
“My Lady is looking charmingly well；” says Mrs Rouncewell；
with another curtsey。
My Lady signifies； without profuse expenditure of words； that
she is as wearily well as she can hope to be。
But Rosa is in the distance； behind the housekeeper； and my
Lady； who has not subdued the quickness of her observation；
whatever else she may have conquered； asks：
“Who is that girl？”
“A young scholar of mine； my Lady。 Rosa。”
“Come here； Rosa！” Lady Dedlock beckons her； with even an
appearance of interest。 “Why； do you know how pretty you are；
child？” she says； touching her shoulder with her two forefingers。
Rosa； very much abashed； says； “No； if you please； my Lady！”
and glances up； and glances down； and don’t know where to look；
but looks all the prettier。
“How old are you？”
“Nineteen； my Lady。”
“Nineteen；” repeats my Lady； thoughtfully。 “Take care they
don’t spoil you by flattery。”
“Yes； my Lady。”
My Lady taps her dimpled cheek with the same delicate gloved
fingers； and goes on to the foot of the oak staircase； where Sir
Leicester pauses for her as her knightly escort。 A staring old
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Dedlock in a panel； as large as life and as dull； looks as if he didn’t
know what to make of it—which was probably his general state of
mind in the days of Queen Elizabeth。
That evening； in the housekeeper’s room； Rosa can do nothing
but murmur Lady Dedlock’s praises。 She is so affable； so graceful；
so beautiful； so elegant； has such a sweet voice； and such a
thrilling touch； that Rosa can feel it yet！ Mr Rouncewell confirms
all this； not without personal pride； reserving only the one point of
affability。 Mrs Rouncewell is not quite sure as to that。 Heaven
forbid that she should say a syllable in dispraise of any member of
that excellent family； above all； of my Lady； whom the whole world
admires； but if my Lady would only be “a little more free；” not
quite so cold and distant； Mrs Rouncewell thinks she would be
more affable。
“’Tis almost a pity；” Mrs Rouncewell adds—only “almost；”
because its borders on impiety to suppose that anything could be
better than it is； in such an express dispensation as the Dedlock
affairs； “that my Lady has no family。 If she had had a daughter
now； a grown young lady； to interest her； I think she would have
had the only kind of excellence she wants。”
“Might not that have made her still more proud；
grandmother？” says Watt； who has been home and come back
again； he is such a good grandson。
“More and most； my dear；” returns the housekeeper with
dignity； “are words it’s not my place to use—nor so much as to
hear—applied to any drawback on my Lady。”
“I beg your pardon； grandmother。 But she is proud； is she not？”
“If she is； she has reason to be。 The Dedlock family have always
reason to be。”
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“Well！” says Watt； “it’s to be hoped they line out of their Prayer…
Books a certain passage for the common people about pride and
vainglory。 Forgive me； grandmother！ Only a joke！”
“Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock； my dear； are not fit subjects
for joking。”
“Sir Leicester is no joke by any means；” says Watt； “and I
humbly ask his pardon。 I suppose； grandmother； that； even with
the family and their guests down here； there is no objection to my
prolonging my stay at the Dedlock Arms for a day or two； as any
other traveller might？”
“Surely； none in the world； child。”
“I am glad of that；” says Watt； “because I—because I have an
inexpressible desire to extend my knowledge of this beautiful
neighbourhood。”
He happens to glance at Rosa； who looks down； and is very shy；
indeed。 But； according to the old superstition； it should be Rosa’s
ears that burn； and not her fresh bright cheeks； for my Lady’s
maid is holding fo