He was disengaging the fringe of Pauline's shawl, which caught the
button of his coat, and, looking up as his sister spoke, his eyes
met Beulah's anxious gaze. She had wondered very much how he would
receive her. His countenance expressed neither surprise nor
pleasure; he merely held out his hand to assist her, saying, in his
usual grave manner: "I am glad to see you, Beulah."
She looked up in his face for some trace of the old kindness; but
the rare, fascinating smile and protective tenderness had utterly
vanished. He returned her look with a calmly indifferent glance,
which pained her more than any amount of sternness could have done.
She snatched her hand from his, and, missing the carriage step,
would have fallen, but he caught and placed her safely on the
ground, saying coolly: "Take care; you are awkward."
She followed Pauline up the steps, wishing herself at home in her
little room. But her companion's gay chat diverted her mind, and she
only remembered how very beautiful was the face she looked on.
They stood together before a mirror, smoothing their hair, and
Beulah could not avoid contrasting the images reflected. One was
prematurely grave and thoughtful in its expression--the other
radiant with happy hopes. Pauline surmised what was passing in her
friend's mind, and said merrily: "For shame, Beulah! to envy me my poor estate of good looks! Why, I
am all nose and eyes, curls, red lips, and cheeks; but you have an
additional amount of brains to balance my gifts. Once I heard Uncle
Guy say that you had more intellect than all the other women and
children in the town! Come; Mr. Lockhart wants to see you very
much."
She ran down the steps as heedlessly as in her childhood, and Beulah
followed her more leisurely. In the study they found the remainder
of the party; Mr. Lockhart was wrapt in a heavy dressing-gown, and
reclined on the sofa. He welcomed Beulah very warmly, keeping her
hand in his and making her sit down near him. He was emaciated, and
a hacking cough prevented his taking any active part in the
conversation. One glance at his sad face sufficed to show her that
his days on earth were numbered, and the expression with which he
regarded his wife told all the painful tale of an unhappy marriage.
She was discussing the sermon, and declaring herself highly
gratified at the impression which Mr. Mortimor had evidently made on
his large and fashionable congregation. Dr. Hartwell stood on the
hearth, listening in silence to his sister's remarks. The Atlantic
might have rolled between them, for any interest he evinced in the
subject. Pauline was restless and excited; finally she crossed the
room, stood close to her uncle, and, carelessly fingering his watch
chain, said earnestly: "Uncle Guy, what did Ernest mean, this
morning, by a 'Fourieristic-phalanx?'"