"I am a confirmed recluse, my dear Lady Laura, a worn-out old bookworm,
with no better idea of enjoyment than a good fire and a favourite author,"
he said; "and I really feel myself quite unfitted for civilised society.
But you have a knack at commanding, and to hear is to obey; so if you
insist upon it, and will pardon my morning-dress, I remain."
Mr. Lovel's morning-dress was a suit of rather clerical-looking black from
a fashionable West-end tailor--a costume that would scarcely outrage the
proprieties of a patrician dinner-table.
"Clarissa shall show you the gardens between this and dinner-time,"
exclaimed Lady Laura. "It's an age since you've seen them, and I want to
know your opinion of my improvements. Besides, you must have so much to say
to her."
Clarissa blushed, remembering how very little her father ever had to say to
her of a confidential nature, but declared that she would be very pleased
to show him the gardens; so after a little more talk with my lady they set
out together.
"Well, Clary," Mr. Lovel began, with his kindest air, "you are making a
long stay of it."
"Too long, papa. I should be so glad to come home. Pray don't think me
ungrateful to Lady Laura, she is all goodness; but I am so tired of this
kind of life, and I do so long for the quiet of home."
"Tired of this kind of life! Did ever any one hear of such a girl! I really
think there are some people who would be tired of Paradise.
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