Cousin Prudence by Sarah Waldock Page A

known fact that men find the way that some vicars speak quite soporific; you will not be the first man of my acquaintance to have dozed off and lost track of the service.”
    Mr Alver was nonplussed; he did not wish the object of his veneration to think that he had dozed off and ceased gazing upon her adored countenance but nor did he wish to be thought the sort of boor who would not listen.  And he did not quite know how to explain that he had lost the thread of what the Bishop was saying because of the dear little curl of golden hair that had escaped from Emma’s coiffure that he longed to tuck back.   He sighed softly.
    “I know old man ,” said George, gently, “it is hard to concentrate on anything else is it not?”
    “Sir!  You know?” Mr Alver was horrified. “Are – are you very angry?  Will you tell my uncle?”
    “Arthur – if I may presume, as an older man to so call you – I cannot fault your taste,” said George, “and I know that you are a gentleman and will not reveal your feelings to her such as would embarrass her.   How can I blame you? I am not angry.  I should be angry if by word or deed you did anything to upset her.  As to telling your uncle, I fancy Lord Alverston, who knows you well, is very well aware.”
    Arthur flushed.
    “I have never felt this way before sir!” he said in an anguished tone “And that I should feel thus for a married lady!  You are very good; and – and I shall never betray your trust in me to be proper in all ways, and never to upset that darling angel!  Sometimes my feelings threaten to overwhelm me!”
    “Then may I suggest ,” said George, “that you should express them in poetry, written down and kept to yourself, but some relief even so to put your heart into words.”
    “Mr Knightley you are very wise!” said Arthur.
    George hid a smile.  At least the young puppy had not got as far as writing execrable sonnets of his own accord to Emma’s azure eyes; and who might say, turning his passion to prose might even prompt him to produce some memorable poetry.
    On the other hand, he was more likely to turn out as much rubbish as any youth who fancied himself in love; but it would keep him from pouring out his heart to poor Emma who was too kind hearted to be anything but hurt in discouraging him.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 13
     
    Emma was noticeably less than her sunny self in the mornings at the moment and Prudence decided that she need not trouble her friend to escort her to make a purchase she just had to have – a length of ribbon to match a trim she was adding to a  gown of hers that she had torn and wished for some way to disguise the tear. 
    She collected Hester.
    “Eeh, lass, if tha’ll ask me, it’s reet improper t’go out to Bond Street alone,” said Hester.
    “Well I’m not alone, am I?” retorted Prudence “I have you with me.”
    Hester tutted; but sighed and got her bonnet.  Miss Pru was quite capable of taking into her head to go without any escort; and Joseph was no help as he must  needs keep the chaise ready to come home in, walking the horses so they would not take cold. The day was foggy as it seemed to be so often of late, a curiously dry fog, and the sun a red and unprepossessing orb through it.
     
     
     
    Prudence soon found that Bond Street without an obvious male escort like George was a different proposition on her own.  Those ladies with apparent footmen to carry their purchases, or husbands or fathers, even obvious dowager mothers, met with no inconvenience; whereas Prudence became the object of observation for a number of men dressed – or overdressed – in the height of fashion who gazed at her through quizzing glasses.
    The one who came out of a door almost level with her and put his arm around her waist made Prudence give a little cry.
    “Come now, pretty wench do not be startled,”