Modern Broods; Or, Developments Unlooked For. Charlotte M. Yonge

Modern Broods; Or, Developments Unlooked For - Charlotte M. Yonge


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       Charlotte M. Yonge

      Modern Broods; Or, Developments Unlooked For

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066230166

       CHAPTER I—TORTOISES AND HARES

       CHAPTER II—THE GOYLE

       CHAPTER III—THE FIRST SUNDAY

       CHAPTER IV—CYCLES

       CHAPTER V—CLIPSTONE FRIENDS

       CHAPTER VI—THE FRESCOES OF ST. KENELM’S

       CHAPTER VII—SISTER AND SISTERS

       CHAPTER VIII—SNOBBISHNESS

       CHAPTER IX—GONE OVER TO THE ENEMY

       CHAPTER X—FLOWN

       CHAPTER XI—ADRIFT

       CHAPTER XII—“THE KITTIWAKE”

       CHAPTER XIII—CHIMERAS DIRE

       CHAPTER XIV—PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED

       CHAPTER XV—BROODS ASTRAY

       CHAPTER XVI—THE REGIMENT OF WOMEN

       CHAPTER XVII—FOXGLOVES AND FLIRTATIONS

       CHAPTER XVIII—PALACES OR CHURCHES

       CHAPTER XIX—TWO WEDDINGS

       CHAPTER XX—FLEETING

       CHAPTER XXI—THE ELECTRICIANS

       CHAPTER XXII—ANGEL AND BEAR

       CHAPTER XXIII—WILLOW WIDOWS

       CHAPTER XXIV—CRUEL LAWYERS

       CHAPTER XXV—BEAR AS ADVISER

       CHAPTER XXVI—NEW PATHS

       CHAPTER XXVII—A SENTENCE

       CHAPTER XXVIII—SUMMONED

       CHAPTER XXIX—SAFE

       CHAPTER XXX—THE MAIDEN ROCKS

       CHAPTER XXXI—THE WRECK

       CHAPTER XXXII—ANCHORED

       CHAPTER XXXIII—FAREWELL

       Table of Contents

      “Whate’er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven,

       Though it be what thou canst not hope to see.”

      —Hartley Coleridge.

      The scene was a drawing-room, with old-fashioned heavy sash windows opening on a narrow brick-walled town-garden sloping down to a river, and neatly kept. The same might be said of the room, where heavy old-fashioned furniture, handsome but not new, was concealed by various flimsy modernisms, knicknacks, fans, brackets, china photographs and water-colours, a canary singing loud in the window in the winter sunshine.

      “Miss Prescott,” announced the maid; but, finding no auditor save the canary, she retreated, and Miss Prescott looked round her with a half sigh of recognition of the surroundings. She was herself a quiet-looking, gentle lady, rather small, with a sweet mouth and eyes of hazel, in a rather worn face, dressed in a soft woollen and grey fur, with headgear to suit, and there was an air of glad expectation, a little flush, that did not look permanent, on her thin cheeks.

      “Is it you, my dear Miss Prescott?” was the greeting of the older hostess as she entered, her grey hair rough and uncovered, and her dress of well-used black silk, her complexion of the red that shows wear and care. “Then it is true?” she asked, as the kiss and double shake of the hand was exchanged.

      “May I ask? Is it true? May I congratulate you?”

      “Oh, yes, it is true!” said Miss Prescott, breathlessly. “I suppose the girls are at the High School?”

      “Yes, they will be at home at one. Or shall I send for them?”

      “No, thank you, Mrs. Best. I shall like to have a little time with you first. I can stay till a quarter-past three.”

      “Then come and take off your things. I do not know when I have been so glad!”

      “Do the girls know?” asked Miss Prescott, following upstairs to a comfortable bedroom, evidently serving also the purposes of a private room, for writing table and account books stood near the fire.

      “They know something; Kate Bell heard a report from her cousins, and they have been watching anxiously for news from you.”

      “I would not write till I knew more. I hope they have not raised their expectations too high; for though it is enough to be an immense relief, it is not exactly affluence. I have been with Mr. Bell going into


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