It was bright midsummer weather, a glorious prolific season, with the
thermometer ranging between seventy and eighty, when Lady Laura Armstrong
did at last make her appearance at Mill Cottage. The simple old-fashioned
garden was all aglow with roses; the house half-hidden beneath the
luxuriance of foliage and flowers, a great magnolia on one side climbing up
to the dormer windows, on the other pale monthly roses, and odorous golden
and crimson tinted honeysuckle. Lady Laura was in raptures with the place.
She found Clarissa sitting in a natural arbour made by a group of old
hawthorns and a wild plum-tree, and placed herself at once upon a footing
of perfect friendliness and familiarity with the girl. Mr. Lovel was out--a
rare occurrence. He had gone for a stroll through the village with Ponto.
"And why are you not with him?" asked Lady Laura, who, like most of these
clever managing women, had a knack of asking questions. "You must be a
better companion than Ponto."
"Papa does not think so. He likes walking alone. He likes to be quite free
to dream about his books, I fancy, and it bores him rather to have to
talk."
"Not a very lively companion for you, I fear. Why, child, how dismal your
life must be!"
"O, no; not dismal. It is very quiet, of course; but I like a quiet life."
"But you go to a good many parties, I suppose, in Holborough and the
neighbourhood? I know the Holborough people are fond of giving parties, and
are quite famous for Croquet.
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