Edward Dodd." She gave her clean but wettish hand a hasty wipe
with her apron, and took the card. He retired; she stood on the step and
watched him out of sight, said "Oho!" and took his card to the kitchen
for preliminary inspection and discussion.
Alfred Hardie was resolute, but sensitive. He had come on the wings of
Love and Hope; he went away heavily; a housemaid's tongue had shod his
elastic feet with lead in a moment; of all misfortunes, sickness was what
he had not anticipated, for she looked immortal. Perhaps it was that fair
and treacherous disease, consumption. Well, if it was, he would love her
all the more, would wed her as soon as he was of age, and carry her to
some soft Southern clime, and keep each noxious air at bay, and prolong
her life, perhaps save it.
And now he began to chafe at the social cobwebs that kept him from her.
But, just as his impatience was about to launch him into imprudence, he
was saved by a genuine descendant of Adam. James Maxley kept Mr. Hardie's
little pleasaunce trim as trim could be, by yearly contract. This
entailed short but frequent visits; and Alfred often talked with him; for
the man was really a bit of a character; had a shrewd rustic wit, and a
ready tongue, was rather too fond of law, and much too fond of money; but
scrupulously honest: head as long as Cudworth's, but broader; and could
not read a line.
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