His Grace — page 35: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS GRACE. 29 could of my family before going to bed. Mr. Burgess followed us into the hall and was anxious to drive us home in his pony chaise, but I firmly declined his prof- fered courtesy, declaring that, on such a lovely night, we should both of us much prefer to walk home across the fields. “T can’t imagine,” said I, as we passed out of the garden into the park together (for in my unreasonable, masculine way I was a little vexed with Nora, as well as with the Rector), “‘ what pleasure you can find in listening to the oily egotism of that old bore.” “Can’t you?” she returned, without meeting my | eyes. ‘“ But—did I say I found any pleasure in sta “No; you didn’t say so,” I admitted; “but really anybody who had watched you with him to-night might have thought you did. His spirits don’t seem to have been much affected by his loss. I suppose the next thing we shall hear will be that he has appointed some worthy successor to the vacant place in his affections.” “Yes,” agreed Nora absently; “ I shouldn’t wonder.” Unlike Mr. Burgess, Nora was evidently out of spirits. She did not listen to what I said; she did not laugh at the time-honored jokes with which we had been in the habit of diverting one another from our infancy, and which I had never before known to pall upon either of us. It was only when I reminded her of that memo- rable occasion on which the old cab-horse—a designa- tion conferred by us upon our esteemed pastor in com- pliment to certain peculiarities of action—had slipped up while ambling down the chancel, and had seated himself with a resounding crash upon the tiles, display- ing the soles of his immense feet to his flock—it was ¢om (G boo cS (e(@)