I tell him I wish he'd go to Germany and be done
with it, though I never think musicians are respectable, with all that
hair. Anyhow, Charles is getting bald, and he says he's too old to
start afresh. And then he glares at his father. It's all very
unpleasant. Still, he's a good boy really. They're both good boys.
I've a lot to be thankful for; and, my dear,'--her voice sank, and she
laid a plump hand on Henrietta's--'Mr. Batty says we may give a ball
after Christmas. Everybody in Radstowe. We shall take the Assembly
Rooms. The date isn't fixed, and now and then, if he isn't feeling
well, Mr. Batty says he can't afford it. But that's nonsense, we shall
have it; but don't say a word. I've told nobody else, but somehow,
Henrietta, I always want to tell you everything, as if you were my
daughter.' Mrs. Batty sighed heavily. 'If only Charles were
different!'
However, Charles surprised his mother that evening by walking to the
gate with Henrietta. Arrived there, he announced firmly that he would
take her home.
'I'm going for a walk,' Henrietta said.
'Oh, a walk. Well, all right. Where shall we go? I know, I will take
you where you've never been before.'
It was October and already the lamps were lighted in the streets; they
studded the bridge like fairy lanterns for a fairy path to that world
of woods and stealthy lanes and open country where the wind rustled
the gorse bushes on the other side. Below, at the water's edge, more
lamps stood like sentinels, here and there, straight and lonely,
fulfilling their task, and as Charles and Henrietta watched, the
terraces of Radstowe became illuminated by an unseen hand.
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