The Rector of Stagholme had awful visions of a furnished house at
Brighton or a crammed hotel on the Riviera.
"Where do you want to go to?" he inquired, with a gruffness which meant
less than it conveyed.
"To town, dear."
Now Mr. Glynde loved London.
In the meantime Dora was standing at the gate of the gamekeeper's little
cottage-garden which adjoined the orchard at Stagholme. There were
certain women with whom Sister Cecilia did not "get on," and these were
by tacit understanding relegated to Dora. This same inability to "get on"
was one of the crosses which Sister Cecilia carried in a magnified
condition through life. The gamekeeper's wife was one of the failures--a
hardy mother of several hardy little embryo gamekeepers, who held that
she knew her own business of motherhood best, and intimated as much to
Sister Cecilia.
Dora went there very frequently, and the pathos of her way with little
children is one of the things which cannot be touched upon here. It is
possible that she went there because the cottage was near the Holme, and
the way took her past the great house.
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