' It took
me just an hour--an hour by my watch, I assure you, Mr. Hamish
Channing!--and what is the result? I retired from the dinner-table
precisely ten minutes after the removal of the cloth, according to my
invariable custom; and Ellen, in defiance of my warning her that it is
not lady-like, stays there behind me! 'I have not finished my grapes,
aunt,' she says to me. And there she stays, just to talk with her
father. And he encourages her! What will become of Ellen, I cannot
imagine; she will never be a lady!"
"It's very sad!" replied Hamish, coughing down a laugh, and putting on
the gravest face he could call up.
"Sad!" repeated Miss Huntley, who sat perfectly upright, her hands,
cased in mittens, crossed upon her lap. "It is _grievous_, Mr. Hamish
Channing! She--what do you think she did only yesterday? One of our
maids was going to be married, and a dispute, or some unpleasantness
occurred between her and the intended husband. Would you believe that
Ellen actually wrote a letter for the girl (a poor ignorant thing, who
never learnt to read, let alone to write, but an excellent servant) to
this man, that things might be smoothed down between them? My niece,
Miss Ellen Huntley, lowering herself to write a--a--I can scarcely
allow my tongue to utter the word, Mr. Hamish--a love-letter!"
Miss Huntley lifted her eyes, and her mittens. Hamish expressed himself
inexpressibly shocked, inwardly wishing he could persuade Miss Ellen
Huntley to write a few to him.
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