Part 45 (2/2)
”It might have been a worse one. There are more disagreeable things than money. There was once upon a time a stubborn mare, and even she was made to go by this same much-abused money. By the bye,”--thoughtfully,--”you don't object to your share of it, do you?”
”By no means. I purchased it so dearly I have quite a veneration for it.”
”I see. I don't think my remark called for so ungracious a reply. To look at you one could hardly imagine a cruel sentiment coming from your lips.”
”That shows how deceitful appearances can be. Had you troubled yourself to raise my veil upon your wedding-day you might have made yourself miserable for life. Really, Sir Penthony, I think you owe me a debt of grat.i.tude.”
”Do you? Then I confess myself _un_grateful. Oh, Cecil, had I only known----” Here he pauses, warned by the superciliousness of her bearing, and goes on rather lamely. ”Are you cold? Shall I get you a shawl?” They are standing on the veranda, and the evening is closing in.
”Cold? No. Who could feel cold on so divine an evening? It reminds one of the very heart of summer, and---- Ah!” with a little start and a pleased smile, ”here is Mr. Lowry coming across the gra.s.s.”
”Lowry! It seems to me he always is coming across the gra.s.s.” Testily.
”Has he no servants, no cook, no roof over his head? Or what on earth brings him here, morning, noon, and night?”
”I really think he must come to see me,” says Lady Stafford, with modest hesitation. ”He was so much with me in town, off and on, that I dare say he misses me now. He was very attentive about bringing me flowers and--and that.”
”No doubt. It is amazing how thoughtful men can be on occasions. You like him very much?”
”Very much indeed. He is amiable, good-natured, and has such kind brown eyes.”
”Has he?” With exaggerated surprise. ”Is he indeed all that you say? It is strange how blind a man can be to his neighbor's virtues, whatever he may be to his faults. Now, if I had been asked my opinion of Talbot Lowry, I would have said he was the greatest bore and about the ugliest fellow I ever met in my life.”
”Well, of course, strictly speaking, no one could call him handsome,”
Cecil says, feeling apologetic on the score of Mr. Lowry; ”but he has excellent points; and, after all, with me, good looks count for very little.” She takes a calm survey of her companion's patrician features as she speaks; but Sir Penthony takes no notice of her examination, as he is looking straight before him at nothing in the world, as far as she can judge.
”I never meet him without thinking of Master Shallow,” he says, rather witheringly. ”May I ask how he managed to make himself so endurable to you?”
”In many ways. Strange as it may appear to you, he can read poetry really charmingly. Byron, Tennyson, even Shakespeare, he has read to me until,” says Cecil, with enthusiasm, ”he has actually brought the tears into my eyes.”
”I can fancy it,” says Sir Penthony, with much disgust, adjusting his eyegla.s.s with great care in his right eye, the better to contemplate the approach of this modern hero. ”I can readily believe it. He seems to me the very personification of a 'lady's man,'--a thorough-paced carpet knight. When,” says Sir Penthony, with careful criticism, ”I take into consideration the elegant slimness of his lower limbs and the cadaverous leanness of his under-jaw, I can almost see him writing sonnets to his mistress's eyebrow.”
”If”--severely--”there is one thing that absolutely repels me, it is sarcasm. Don't you be sarcastic. It doesn't suit you. I merely said Mr.
Lowry probably feels at a loss, now his mornings are unoccupied, as he generally spent them with me in town.”
”Happy he. Were those mornings equally agreeable to you?”
”They were indeed. But, as you evidently don't admire Talbot, you can hardly be expected to sympathize with my enjoyment.”
”I merely hinted I thought him a conceited c.o.xcomb; and so I do. Ah, Lowry, how d'ye do? Charmed to see you. Warm evening, is it not?”
”You are come at last, Mr. Lowry,” Cecil says, with sweet meaning in her tone, smiling up at him as he stands beside her, with no eyes but for her. ”What a glorious day we have had! It makes one sad to think it cannot continue. I do so hate winter.”
”Poor winter!” says Lowry, rather insipidly. ”It has my most sincere sympathy. As for the day, I hardly noticed its beauties: I found it long.”
”The sign of an idler. Did you find it _very_ long?”
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