"Mr. Beebe, could you help me?"
He looked amazed at the request, and said in a low, stern voice:
"I am more grieved than I can possibly express. It is lamentable,
lamentable--incredible."
"What's wrong with the boy?" fired up the other again.
"Nothing, Mr. Emerson, except that he no longer interests me.
Marry George, Miss Honeychurch. He will do admirably."
He walked out and left them. They heard him guiding his mother
up-stairs.
"Lucy!" the voices called.
She turned to Mr. Emerson in despair. But his face revived her. It
was the face of a saint who understood.
"Now it is all dark. Now Beauty and Passion seem never to have
existed. I know. But remember the mountains over Florence and the
view. Ah, dear, if I were George, and gave you one kiss, it would
make you brave. You have to go cold into a battle that needs
warmth, out into the muddle that you have made yourself; and your
mother and all your friends will despise you, oh, my darling, and
rightly, if it is ever right to despise.
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