and Mrs. Grey not appearing, she was
called into Miss Gascoigne's room, where that lady stood tying her
bonnet-strings with a determined air, and expressing her intention of
going at once to the Lodge, however inconvenient, still, all that Aunt
Maria ventured to plead was that melancholy warning, generally
unheeded by those who delight in playing with hot coals and edged
tools, as Aunt Henrietta had done all her life, "Take care!"
In her walk to the Lodge, through the still, sweet autumn evening, with
a fairy-like wreath of mist rising up above the low-lying meadows of
the Avon, and climbing slowly up to the college towers, and the far-off
sunset clouds, whose beauty she never noticed, Miss Gascoigne
condescended to some passing conversation with Phillis, and elicited
from her, without betraying any thing, as she thought, a good deal--
namely, that Sir Edwin Uniacke was often seen walking up and down
the avenue facing the Lodge, and that once or twice he had met and
spoken to the children.
"But Mrs. Grey doesn't like it, I think she wants to drop his
acquaintance," said the sharp Phillis, who was gaining quite as much
information as she bestowed.
"Why, did they ever--did she ever"--and then some lingering spark of
womanly feeling, womanly prudence, made Miss Gascoigne hesitate,
and add with dignity.
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