The latter looked at him with intensified interest this morning, in the

mood which is altogether peculiar to woman's nature, and which, when

reduced into plain words, seems as impossible as the penetrability of

matter--that of entertaining a tender pity for the object of her own

unnecessary coldness. The imperturbable poise which marked Winterborne

in general was enlivened now by a freshness and animation that set a

brightness in his eye and on his cheek. Mrs. Melbury asked him to have

some breakfast, and he pleasurably replied that he would join them,

with his usual lack of tactical observation, not perceiving that they

had all finished the meal, that the hour was inconveniently late, and

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that the note piped by the kettle denoted it to be nearly empty; so

that fresh water had to be brought in, trouble taken to make it boil,

and a general renovation of the table carried out. Neither did he

know, so full was he of his tender ulterior object in buying that

horse, how many cups of tea he was gulping down one after another, nor

how the morning was slipping, nor how he was keeping the family from

dispersing about their duties.

Then he told throughout the humorous story of the horse's purchase,

looking particularly grim at some fixed object in the room, a way he

always looked when he narrated anything that amused him. While he

was still thinking of the scene he had described, Grace rose and

said, "I have to go and help my mother now, Mr. Winterborne."

"H'm!" he ejaculated, turning his eyes suddenly upon her.

She repeated her words with a slight blush of awkwardness; whereupon

Giles, becoming suddenly conscious, too conscious, jumped up, saying,

"To be sure, to be sure!" wished them quickly good-morning, and bolted

out of the house.

Nevertheless he had, upon the whole, strengthened his position, with

her at least. Time, too, was on his side, for (as her father saw with

some regret) already the homeliness of Hintock life was fast becoming

effaced from her observation as a singularity; just as the first

strangeness of a face from which we have for years been separated

insensibly passes off with renewed intercourse, and tones itself down

into simple identity with the lineaments of the past.

Thus Mr. Melbury went out of the house still unreconciled to the

sacrifice of the gem he had been at such pains in mounting. He fain

could hope, in the secret nether chamber of his mind, that something

would happen, before the balance of her feeling had quite turned in

Winterborne's favor, to relieve his conscience and preserve her on her

elevated plane.




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