Читать книгу Phyllis - Duchess - Страница 9

"Go on, Dora," says Roland, in an encouraging tone. "When you marry Mr. Carrington, what will you do then?"

"Of course I don't see the smallest prospect of it," murmurs Dora, with downcast eyes; "but if I were to become mistress of Strangemore I would throw more light into all the rooms; I would open up windows everywhere and take down those heavy pillars."

"Then you would ruin it," I cry indignantly; "its ancient appearance is its chief charm. You would make it a mere modern dwelling-house; and the pillars I think magnificent."

"I don't," says dear Dora, immovably; "and if ever I get the chance I will certainly remove them."

"You won't get the chance, then; you need not think it. Mr. Carrington has not the smallest idea of marrying you," exclaims Billy, whose Latin and Greek have evidently disagreed with him.

"It is a pity your tutor cannot teach you to be a gentleman," retorts Dora, casting a withering glance at our youngest born.

"Our dear William's temper appears slightly ruffled," remarks Roland, smoothly. "Evidently the gentleman of the name of Caldwood was lavish with his birch this morning. Come with me, Phyllis: I want to visit the stables."

I follow him gladly; and Billy joining us, with a grim countenance, we sally forth, leaving Dora to pour her griefs into mother's gentle bosom.