"I understand that the suggestion emanated from Dr. Mangan," went on
Mr. Cotton, faintly stimulated by his unaccustomed success. "I am not
aware if young Mr. Coppinger has made any reply."
Mrs. Kirby put her plump white hand on Frederica's narrow knee. "I
shouldn't distress myself if I were you, my dear," she said in a low
voice. "Quite possibly it's all a mistake--" She turned to Mr.
Cotton, who was relapsing into trance; his eyes had followed the
movement of her hand, and were being held, hypnotically, by the
sparkle of the diamonds in her rings. "At all events," went on Mrs.
Kirby, "a general election now is very unlikely, and our valued
member--upon my word, I don't even remember his name!--isn't likely to
resign in Larry's favour, so we needn't discuss it now! I am sure, Mr.
Cotton, that you will agree with me, that the less said about it the
better; most probably the whole thing will die out and come to
nothing!" She glanced at Mrs. St. George, and perceiving that the news
had shattered her in only less degree than Frederica, she continued to
address Mr. Cotton, "Such weather! Isn't it? How does your garden like
all this rain, Mr. Cotton? Our strawberries _won't_ ripen, and as
for the poor hay--! You really ought to have prayers for fine
weather for us next Sunday!"
Mr. Cotton recalled his eyes from the diamonds with an effort.
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