women fell in love with him, which a good many did.
Grand-looking creature, my dear, and quite the rage
for a year or two. However, Mrs. Lyndsay all
of a sudden went off to Paris, and there Montfort
saw Caroline, and was caught. Mrs. Lyndsay, no
doubt, calculated on living with her daughter, having
the run of Montfort House in town and Montfort Court
in the country. But Montfort is deeper than
people think for. No, he never forgave her.
She was never asked here; took it to heart, went
to Rome, and died.”
At this moment the door opened, and George Morley,
now the Rev. George Morley, entered, just arrived
to join his cousins.
Some knew him, some did not. Lady Selina, who
made it a point to know all the cousins, rose graciously,
put aside the slippers, and gave him two fingers.
She was astonished to find him not nearly so shy as
he used to be: wonderfully improved; at his ease,
cheerful, animated. The man now was in his right
place, and following hope on the bent of inclination.
Few men are shy when in their right places.
He asked after Lady Montfort. She was in her
own small sitting-room, writing letters, —letters
that Carr Vipont had entreated her to write,—correspondence
useful to the House of Vipont. Before long, however,
a servant entered, to say that Lady Montfort would
be very happy to see Mr. Morley. George followed
the servant into that unpretending sitting-room, with
its simple chintzes and quiet bookshelves,—room
that would not have been too fine for a cottage.
In every life, go it
fast, go it slow, there are critical pausing-
places. When the
journey is renewed the face of the country is
changed.
How well she suited that simple room; herself so simply
dressed, her marvellous beauty so exquisitely subdued!
She looked at home there, as if all of home that
the house could give were there collected.
She had finished and sealed the momentous letters,
and had come, with a sense of relief, from the table
at the farther end of the room, on which those letters,
ceremonious and conventional, had been written,—come
to the window, which, though mid-winter, was open,
and the redbreast, with whom she had made friends,
hopped boldly almost within reach, looking at her
with bright eyes and head curiously aslant. By
the window a single chair, and a small reading-desk,
with the book lying open. The short day was
not far from its close, but there was ample light still
in the skies, and a serene if chilly stillness in
the air without.
Though expecting the relation she had just summoned
to her presence, I fear she had half forgotten him.
She was standing by the window deep in revery as
he entered, so deep that she started when his voice
struck her ear and he stood before her. She
recovered herself quickly, however, and said with
even more than her ordinary kindliness of tone and
manner towards the scholar, “I am so glad to
see and congratulate you.”
