"
"Gladly," said I, "if you will sing again."
"Nobody can sing and peel onions--they make your eyes run."
"Why, then, let me--"
"Hush!" she exclaimed suddenly.
"What is it?"
"Strangers coming--listen!" And presently I heard it too, a rustle of
leaves, crackling of twigs, voices and jingling spurs, coming nearer.
Then as I rose with a premonition of approaching fate, forth into the
clearing stepped my uncle George, my uncle Jervas and my aunt Julia.
She was dressed for riding and carried the skirt of her close-fitting
habit across her arm, and never had she looked handsomer nor more
magnificently statuesque as she stood, her noble figure proudly erect,
all potent femininity from feathered hat to dainty, firm-planted
riding boots.
My lips were opening in glad welcome, I had taken a quick step
forward, when her words arrested me.
"George Vereker!" she exclaimed, with a waft of her jewelled riding
switch towards Diana and myself, "O Sir Jervas, is it with such
dreadful creatures as these that you have doomed my poor, delicately
nurtured Peregrine to consort? Aye, well may you grow purple, George,
and you turn your back in shame, Jervas, to behold thus the degrading
company--"
But here, waiting for no more, I started forward, and halting within a
yard of my aunt, I laid grimy hand upon grimy shirt-bosom and bowed.
"Dear Aunt Julia, I rejoice to see you!" said I.
For a long moment my aunt gazed on me with eyes of horrified
bewilderment then, all at once, she dropped her riding-switch and,
gasping my name, sank into the ready arms of my uncle George, who
promptly began to fan her vigorously with his hat, while my uncle
Jervas, lounging gracefully against a tree, surveyed me through his
single glass and I saw his grim lips twitch.
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