Free The Missing Manuscript of Jane Austen by Syrie James Page B

wit—and such an astute imitation of Cervantes!”
    “The plot is meticulously constructed,” agreed Mr. Stanhope, “and the book has great moral vision. Every time I read it, I find something new to appreciate.”
    Some minutes were given over to further discussion of the merits of Charlotte Lennox’s work, a conversation which brought pleasure and gratification to both parties. Then Rebecca said, “Mama would be pleased to know that we are reading
The Female Quixote
to-night. I can see why it was her favourite book.”
    “Your mother did, indeed, have exquisite taste in literature,” returned Mr. Stanhope with a smile. A handsome man, he was every where admired for his white and glossy hair, which curled above his ears. “Did I ever tell you, my dear Rebecca, the story of how I met your mother? It is a most delightful and amusing tale.”
    Rebecca had heard the story so many times ever since she was a little child, that she could recite every word by heart;—but being of a sweet and benevolent nature, and knowing how much pleasure her father had in the telling, she only smiled, and answered, “I would love to hear it, papa.”
    They stood and walked along the gravel path between the lawn and the shrubbery encircling the garden, as Mr. Stanhope recited the anecdote in all its minute details, animatedly recounting how beautiful her mother had looked that day,the colour and style of the dress she had worn, and how he had made it his business to lay wooden boards across a muddy road so that she might cross it unsullied.
    “I have never seen such a quagmire as I did that day—truly frightful!” said he at the conclusion of the tale.
    Rebecca, who had come to regard to her father’s peculiar antipathy to dirt with fondness and good humour, yet could not prevent herself from saying in a tender and teasing voice, “I am sure it was a very dreadful pool of mud, papa! How gallant it was of you to preserve mama’s delicate shoes from absolute ruin. No wonder she fell in love with you.”
    Her father, not detecting the gentle irony in her statement, said with great seriousness, “It was but the work of a moment. One never can tell when a spontaneous action, entirely unpremeditated, might change one’s life. I was very lucky, Rebecca, to have found your mother. I only hope you are as lucky one day, to find your life’s mate.”
    “I hope so, too,” returned Rebecca with a smile.
    “If only your mother were here with us to-day,” added he, sighing. “There is something I would very much like her to know.”
    “What is that, papa?”
    “Mr. Fitzroy has just informed me that after counting the proceeds from Sunday’s collection, we have at last amassed the sum required to purchase our new bells for the church tower.”
    “Papa!” cried Rebecca with delight. “I knew you had nearly approached your goal, but I had no idea of your reaching it already. You truly have the amount entire—one hundred and fifty pounds?”
    “I do. It was that last generous contribution from Mr. Brudenell, our neighbour at Farleigh, which helped put usover the top. I cannot tell you how delighted I am.—After two long years, to have the money at last! Your mother would be very proud.”
    “Indeed she would.” Rebecca could not forget how often and how earnestly Mrs. Stanhope had applied to her husband on the subject, insisting that their existing bells were too small and too ancient, and so badly cracked as to be unsightly. Three brand-new bells, she said, would be a welcome addition, and far more sonorous than two. To that end, and in her memory, Mr. Stanhope and the churchwarden had been working tirelessly the past two years, to raise the money for their purchase.
    “There is just one matter that distresses me,” said Mr. Stanhope. “To commission the bells, I am obliged to go to the foundry in London, John Warner and Sons, and deliver the required sum in advance.”
    “Oh.” Rebecca understood his unexpressed concern; for