These coincidences, in common with all relating to him, tended to
keep Elfride's mind upon the stretch concerning Knight. As was
her custom when upon the horns of a dilemma, she walked off by
herself among the laurel bushes, and there, standing still and
splitting up a leaf without removing it from its stalk, fetched
back recollections of Stephen's frequent words in praise of his
friend, and wished she had listened more attentively. Then, still
pulling the leaf, she would blush at some fancied mortification
that would accrue to her from his words when they met, in
consequence of her intrusiveness, as she now considered it, in
writing to him.
The next development of her meditations was the subject of what
this man's personal appearance might be--was he tall or short,
dark or fair, gay or grim? She would have asked Mrs. Swancourt but
for the risk she might thereby incur of some teasing remark being
returned. Ultimately Elfride would say, 'Oh, what a plague that
reviewer is to me!' and turn her face to where she imagined India
lay, and murmur to herself, 'Ah, my little husband, what are you
doing now? Let me see, where are you--south, east, where? Behind
that hill, ever so far behind!'
Chapter XVII
'Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase.'
'There is Henry Knight, I declare!' said Mrs. Swancourt one day.
They were gazing from the jutting angle of a wild enclosure not
far from The Crags, which almost overhung the valley already
described as leading up from the sea and little port of Castle
Boterel.
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