Harry Lessingham had begged to bring his sister with him. He told me of
this beforehand, and I rejoiced. Lessingham had long been dear to me as
a brother; while that Arabella should only be dear to me as a sister
was, just then, I own, among the things I wished least. I craved,
therefore, to have her share our happy worship. She had a pretty turn
for literature herself. I coveted to see her dazzled, exalted,
impressed--it would be a fascinating spectacle. Before I slept that
night, or rather next morning, I recognized her coming as a disastrous
mistake. For she had received insufficient instruction in ritual, in
the suitable forms of approach to so august a presence as that of our
host. She played round him, flickering, darting, like lightning round a
cathedral tower, metal tipped. Where we, in our young male modesty, had
but gently drawn or furtively shoved, she tickled the soft, sedentary
creature's ribs as with a rapier point. And--to us agitated
watchers--the amazing thing was, that Pogson didn't seem to mind. He
neither rebuked her nor laughed her off; but purred, veritably purred,
under her alternate teasing and petting like some big, sleek cat.
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