Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/282

274 “Yes,” he agreed, “her little bright eyes seem to speak as you go by.”

“Oh, I do think they’re nice little things—don’t you, Lettie?” cried Meg in access of tenderness.

Lettie did—with brevity.

We walked over the hills and down into Greymede. Meg thought she ought to go home to her grandmother, and George bade her go, saying he would call and see her in an hour or so.

The dear girl was disappointed, but she went unmurmuring. We left Alice with a friend, and hurried home through Selsby to escape the after-church parade.

As you walk home past Selsby, the pit stands up against the west, with beautiful tapering chimneys marked in black against the swim of sunset, and the head-stocks etched with tall significance on the brightness. Then the houses are squat in rows of shadow at the foot of these high monuments.

“Do you know, Cyril,” said Emily, “I have meant to go and see Mrs. Annable—the keeper’s wife—she’s moved into Bonsart’s Row, and the children come to school—Oh, it’s awful!—they’ve never been to school, and they are unspeakable.”

“What’s she gone there for?” I asked.

“I suppose the squire wanted the Kennels—and she chose it herself. But the way they live—it’s fearful to think of!”

“And why haven’t you been?”

“I don’t know—I’ve meant to—but——” Emily stumbled.

“You didn’t want, and you daren’t?”