'If you can move her from one house to another, surely you could
move her here--in an invalid motor? It would only take an hour and a
half.'
Elizabeth shook her head quietly, but decidedly.
'Thank you, but I am afraid it is impossible. She couldn't take the
journey, and--no, indeed, it is out of the question!'
'Will you ask your doctor?' said the Squire obstinately.
'I know what he would say. Please don't think of it, Mr. Mannering.
It's very, very good of you.'
'It's not the least good,' said the Squire roughly. 'It's sheer,
naked self-interest. If you're not at ease about your mother, you'll
be throwing up your work here again some day, for good, and that'll
be death and damnation!'
He turned frowning away, and threw himself into a chair by the fire.
So the murder was out. Elizabeth must needs laugh. But this clumsy
way of showing her that she was indispensable not only touched her
feeling, but roused up the swarm of perplexities which had buzzed
around her ever since her summons to her mother's bedside on the
morning after her scene with Pamela.
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