Gladys' farewells were the last.
'That's what I call something like it, Rowly,' said Owen tapping his
brother's shoulder, as he watched Mr and Mrs Jones alternately give
Gladys a most affectionate embrace.
'But why does the old parson hug her so? He shouldn't do that if I were
Mrs Jones, or if she were Mrs--'
The truth was, that at the last the uncle's feelings overcame Gladys'
desire for secrecy, and exploded in a kiss long and fatherly.
When she was in the cab Mr Jones called Owen aside, and said in a
whisper,--
'I know you will take care of Gladys, and remember, that although she is
ready for everything that is good, she is not strong. If your father
makes the least objection to her remaining with your sister, take her to
the Park, whence she can return at once to us. As long as I live, no one
will neglect her with impunity; but I am sure I can trust you and
yours.'
'That you certainly may,' said Owen, nearly shaking Mr Jones' hand off,
but saying to himself a few minutes after, 'What could he mean by
putting her into my care? If his wife had done it, or Miss Gwynne, well
and good; but I declare parsons are no better than the rest of us, I
daresay Rowly isn't half as steady as he seems; he and Miss Gwynne are
wonderfully polite to one another, and he's as grand as any lord.
Pages:
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607