Castleford what could not
be settled in the one business interview that had been held with
Clarence on the Monday.
CHAPTER XLVI--RESTITUTION
'Ah! well for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from human eyes.'
WHITTIER.
Things always happen in unexpected ways. During the little
hesitation and difficulty that always attend my transits at a
station, a voice was heard to say, 'Oh! Papa, isn't that Edward
Winslow?' Martyn gave a violent start, and Mr. Fordyce was
exclaiming, 'Clarence, my dear fellow, it isn't you! I beg your
pardon; you have strength enough left nearly to wring one's hand
off!'
'I--I wanted very much to see you, sir,' said Clarence. 'Could you
be so good as to appoint a time?'
'See you! We must always be seeing you of course. Let me think.
I've got three weddings and a funeral to-morrow, and Simpson coming
about the meeting. Come to luncheon--all of you. Mrs. Fordyce will
be delighted, and so will somebody else.'
There was no doubt about the somebody else, for Anne's feet were as
nearly dancing round Emily as public propriety allowed, and the
radiance of her face was something to rejoice in. Say what people
will, Englishwomen in a quiet cheerful life are apt to gain rather
than lose in looks up to the borders of middle age. Our Emily at
two-and-thirty was fair and pleasant to look on; while as for Anne
Fordyce at twenty-three, words will hardly tell how lovely were her
delicate features, brown eyes, and carnation cheeks, illuminated by
that sunshine brightness of her father's, which made one feel better
all day for having been beamed upon by either of them.
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