Sweet pusson but you wouldnt after a long drive when

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"Sweet pusson! But you wouldn't, after a long drive, when the ends were flying! No woman can look distinguished with tousley hair. I'm ready, my loved ones! If you've any remarks to make, make 'em now, or else for ever hold your peace. As for Katrine--she's quite unnecessarily good-looking--no objections to make there. My hobject is--if you can understand,--to appear as if I were `Somebody,' and have a train of admirers following wherever I go!--If you didn't know any better, do you think you could mistake me for `Some one in Particular,' and hang around to stare?" CHAPTER SEVEN. 52
The brother and sister smiled indulgently. "Isn't Grizel Dundas Somebody?" Martin enquired. "She's a goose anyway!" corrected Katrine, but she said it with a laugh, and in a voice which held no trace of the ordinary snap. Martin's eyes turned upon her quickly; he also seemed to be infected with an unusual gentleness and amenity of manner. "How nice you look, dear--how very nice!" he said genially. In the way of definite approval it was more than he had said to Grizel herself. Katrine flushed with pleasure, and brushed his arm with a caressing touch. Each was conscious of a longing to make up for the growing disloyalty of the past months. The position remained unchanged, but there was a different attitude towards it; they had grown suddenly softer, kindlier; in each mind was a conviction of personal responsibility, a disinclination to blame the other. "I haven't considered her enough. She's had a desperately dull time." ... "I've been so narrow-minded--so blind. I didn't understand!" Each heart made its own confession of shortcomings, and felt lightened of a load. It was in the happiest of moods that the trio started on their ten-mile drive through the wooded country which stretched between Cumly and Barfield Castle. In the matter of rural scenery England stands unsurpassed in the kingdoms of the world, and a stranger to our isle could not have had a better introduction to its beauties than the drive through that southern county. Long avenues of beeches gave entrance to the most picturesque of villages, with the traditional duck-pond and green; thatched cottages showed a blaze of flowers in their trim gardens; the smooth white road curved through the heart of a great forest, dived through the precipitous High Street of a quaint old town, and climbed steeply to a breezy down. Everywhere there was a wealth of greenery, a universal air of prosperity, of order, of well-being, good to behold on this brilliant summer morning. Within a few miles of Barfield Castle, however, all peacefulness vanished from the scene. The converging roads were filled with an unending stream of vehicles, and the dust rose in clouds above the hedgerows. The women wrapped themselves closely in dust cloaks and motor-veils, the pace slackened to a crawl, and at frequent intervals ceased altogether as the congested lines merged together near the castle gates. When once that point had been passed, progress CHAPTER SEVEN. 53

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