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I Make Another Beginning

           

           IbelieveIwasturningaboutinsearchofUriah’spicture,when,adooratthefartherendoftheroomopening,agentlemanentered,atsightofwhomIturnedtothefirst-mentionedportraitagain,tomakequitesurethatithadnotcomeoutofitsframe.Butitwasstationary;andasthegentlemanadvancedintothelight,Isawthathewassomeyearsolderthanwhenhehadhadhispicturepainted.

           ‘MissBetseyTrotwood,’saidthegentleman,‘praywalkin.Iwasengagedforamoment,butyou’llexcusemybeingbusy.Youknowmymotive.Ihavebutoneinlife.’

           MissBetseythankedhim,andwewentintohisroom,whichwasfurnishedasanoffice,withbooks,papers,tinboxes,andsoforth.Itlookedintoagarden,andhadanironsafeletintothewall;soimmediatelyoverthemantelshelf,thatIwondered,asIsatdown,howthesweepsgotrounditwhentheysweptthechimney.

           ‘Well,MissTrotwood,’saidMr.Wickfield;forIsoonfoundthatitwashe,andthathewasalawyer,andstewardoftheestatesofarichgentlemanofthecounty;‘whatwindblowsyouhere?Notanillwind,Ihope?’

           ‘No,’repliedmyaunt.‘Ihavenotcomeforanylaw.’

           ‘That’sright,ma’am,’saidMr.Wickfield.‘Youhadbettercomeforanythingelse.’Hishairwasquitewhitenow,thoughhiseyebrowswerestillblack.Hehadaveryagreeableface,and,Ithought,washandsome.

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Roboto Lora
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