"Oh, I'm wearying for the
sound of the wheels and the flow of people!"
"Oh, you little Cockney!"
"Of course. I was born one, and I am thankful for it! There's
nothing to do here."
"Babie!" cried Armine, indignantly.
"Well, you and Jock have read a great deal, and he has plunged into
night-schools."
"And become a popular lecturer," added Armine.
"And you and mother have cultivated Percy Stagg, and gone to Church
a great deal-—pour passer le temps."
"Ah, you discontented mortal!" said her mother, rising to write her
letters. "You have yet to learn that what is stagnation to some is
rest to others."
"Oh yes, mother, I know it was very good for you, but I'm heartily
glad it is over. Sea and Ogre are all very well for once in a way,
but they pall, especially in an east wind English fog!"
"My Babie, I hope you are not spoilt by all the excitements of our
last few years," said the mother. "You won't find life in
Collingwood Street much like life in Hyde Corner."
"No, but it will be _life_, and that's what I care for!"
No, Barbara, used to constant change, and eager for her schemes of
helpfulness, could not be expected to enjoy the peacefulness of St.
Cradocke's as the others had done. To Armine, indeed, it had been
the beginning of a new life of hope and vigour, and a casting off of
the slough of morbid self-contemplation, induced by his invalid life,
and fostered at Woodside.
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