[Gridrus-developer] Tter analogy in a young married lady of the dipl

[Dipilato <fog...@de...>]

 he had come. "It was necessary," he answered, with remembered gravity,
"in connection with the death of--of a relative, a granduncle of mine.
The old fellow went off suddenly last week, and they telegraphed for me.
I believe he wanted to see me, poor old chap, but of course it was too
late." "Oh!" said Elfrida gently, "that is very sad. Was it a granduncle
you were--fond of?" Kendal could not restrain a smile at her
earnestness. "I was, in a way. He was a good old fellow, and he lived to
a great age--over ninety. He has left me all the duties and
responsibilities of his estate," Kendal went on, with sudden gloom. "The
Lord only knows what I'll do with them." "That makes it sadder," said
the girl. "I should think it did," Kendal replied; and then their eyes
met, and they laughed the healthy instinctive laugh of youth when it is
asked to mourn fatuously, which is always a little cruel. "I hope," said
Elfrida quickly, "that he has not saddled you with a title. An estate is
bad enough, but with a title added it would ruin you. You would never do
any more good work, I am sure--sure. People would get at you--you would
take to rearing farm creatures from a sense of duty--you might go into
Parliament. Tell me there is no title!" "How do you know all that?"
Kendal exclaimed, laughing. "But there is no title--never has been."
Elfrida drew a long sigh of relief, and held him with her eyes as if he
had just been snatched away from, some impending danger. "So now you
are--what do you say in this country?--a landed proprietor. You belong
to the country gentry. In America I used to read about the country
gentry in _London Society_--all the contributors and all the subscribers
to _London Society_ used to be country gentry, I believe, from what I
remember. They were always riding to hounds, and having big Christmas
parties, and telling ghost stories about the family, diamonds." "All
very proper," Kendal protested against the irony of her tone. "Oh, if
one would be quite _sure_ that it will not make any difference," Elfrida
went on, clasping her knee with her shapely gloved hands. "I should
like--I should like to beg you to make me a promise that you will never
give up your work--your splendid work!" She hesitated, and looked at him
almost with supplication. "But then why should you make such a promise
to _me!_" They were sitting opposite one another in the dusty confusion
of the room, and when she said this Kendal got up and walked over to he