The Hermit's Daughter by Joan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

taking her arm, he led her across the street.
    “It would be wiser to pick up the fish last,”she suggested.
    “You’re not thinking, Miss Hermitage. If we get it first, I shall have the distinction of carrying it about town. Perhaps that will bring you out of your sulks.”
    “I am not in the sulks.”
    He regarded her critically. “You’re right. That particular expression is called a moue, n’est-ce pas? A pout is very becoming to some young ladies.”Whether it became this particular one was not stated, as Sally was already heading down the street.
    Her nostrils pinched involuntarily when they entered the fish shop. She was unsure whether she would be able to partake of the turbot after seeing it in its unprepared state, with glazed eyes and mottled fins. There was no denying, however, that it gave her great satisfaction to place the parcel in Lord Monstuart’s fastidious hands, and still greater pleasure to soon bestow on him as well a large leg of mutton. The pleasure would have been increased had he deigned to show the least of the disgust she was sure he felt, but even when the fish wrapper became noticeably soggy, he did no more than hold it a little away from his superfine jacket and give her a quelling glance that prohibited comment.
    The Hermitages had many friends in Ashford. Several were well enough known that they stopped for a chat and an introduction to Lord Monstuart. It was some small pleasure that his lordship was unable to shake hands or remove his hat, for both hands were full of ignominious raw fish and meat.
    “I should have had the wits to stick Derwent with this stuff”was the closest he came to complaint. “It would give him a foretaste of this marriage he is bent on contracting.”
    “It will be enough to put you off from it,”Sally replied.
    “I need no putting off.”
    “A misogynist?”
    “Not in the least. Say rather misogamist. Ihave nothing against women but that they make abominable wives.”
    “It’s odd you should say so. I have often wished I had a wife myself, for I think it would be very comfortable to have someone to take care of one’s house and bear one’s children and be always there to blame when anything goes wrong.”
    “Your idea has the merit of novelty, at least. I shouldn’t mind having a husband to pay the bills and chew out the servants—and carry the fish.”
    “I shan’t trouble you to carry the muslin, at least. I’ll undertake that myself. I wouldn’t want it to come home smelly.”
    “You will make an admirable husband, ma’am. I envy your wife.”
    As this foolishness was going forth, a tall, smiling gentleman in his forties approached. He removed his curled beaver to reveal a long forehead whose length was caused by the recession of his hair to the rear of his scalp. “Miss Hermitage,”he said, beaming, and pulled up to talk.
    “Why, Mr. Heppleworth, what are you doing with yourself these days? I swear you have deserted us abominably,”Sally said. This was the gentleman she had some hopes might make a parti for her mama. He owned a large dairy farm and estate at the edge of town.
    “What but ill health could make me desert the Hermitage?”he asked with a look of avid curiosity in Monstuart’s direction. Sally performed the introduction but made no motion of walking on at its termination.
    “You do not look in the least unhealthy. In the pink of condition, I would say.”She smiled.
    “It’s the hot water that cured me,”Heppleworth confided. “Gout, you know. There is nothing like cutting the toenails in hot water to soothe it. Dr. Aylesworth prescribed wearing flannelette bootikins and staying indoors, but with the hot water and a dozen drops of laudanum to kill the pain, I have put off my bootikins. It was a severe attack. The gout flew from the head to the stomach and gave me a wretched two days, but it is better now. You may look for me at the Hermitage this afternoon.”He turned to Monstuart in a conspiratorial way and