er mother. As it was,
Rosalind's "Oh, _I am_ so glad to get away from that woman!" told
a tale. And Sally's truthful soul interpreted the upshot of that
tale as prohibitive of merely going away and sitting down elsewhere.
She and her mother were in honour bound to have promised to meet
somebody somewhere--say, for instance, Mrs. Vereker and her son and
donkey-chair. Sally said it, for instance, seeing something of the
sort would soothe the position; and the two of them met the three, or
rather the three and a half, for we had forgotten the boy to whom the
control of the donkey was entrusted, and whose interpretation of his
mission was to beat the donkey incessantly like a carpet, and to drag
it the other way. The last held good of all directions soever. Which
the donkey, who was small, but by nature immovable, requited by
taking absolutely no notice whatever of his exertions.

"What's become of my step-parent? I thought he was going to take you
for a walk." So spoke Sally to Dr. Conrad as she and her mother met
the three others, and the half. The doctor replied:

"He's gone for a walk along the cliff by himself. I would have
gone...." The doctor pauses a moment till the donkey-chair is a few
paces ahead, accompanied by Mrs. Fenwick. "I would have gone, only,
you see, it's just mother's last day or two...." Sally apprehends
perfectly. But he shouldn't have dropped his voice. He was quite
distant enough to be inaudible by the Octopus as far as overhearing
words went. But any one can hear when a voice is dropped suddenly,
and words are no longer audible. Dr. Conrad is a very poor
Machiavelli, when all is said and done.

"I can hear _every word_ my boy is saying to your girl, Mrs. Fenwick."
This is delivered with exemplary sweetness by the Octopus, who then
guesses with diabolical acumen at almost the exact wording of her
son's speech. Apparently, no amount of woollen wraps, no double
thickness of green veil to keep the glare out, no smoked glasses with
flanges to make it harmless if it gets in, can obscure the Goody's
penetrative powers when invoked for the discomfiture of her kind. "But
does not my dear boy know," she continues gushily, "that I am _al_ways
content to be _alone_ as long as I can be _sure_ that he is happily
employed _elsewhere_. I am a _dull old woman_, I know; but, at least,
my wish is not to be a burden. That was the wish of my great-aunt
Eliza--your great-great-aunt, Conrad; you never saw her--in her