Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
"Very likely. Ive forgotten the name, but I know I recollect seeing
Farren and Miss Foote and all of them in it. And I so often think of
the two brothers: you so quiet and reserved, like one; and the other
so rackety and buoyant, so full of high spirits and gaiety, like our
Lionel. Ah me!" and Lady Beauport heaved a deep sigh and clasped her
hands sadly in front of her.
Caterham smiled--rather a sad dreary smile--as he said, "Let us trust
that quiet and reserve don't always have the effect which they produced
on the gentleman to whom you are alluding, mother. But I may as well
let you know the real story of Mrs. Ludlow's fainting-fit, which seems
to have become rather warped in its journey. I had asked her husband
to call upon me on a matter of business; and he foolishly brought
her--only just out of her confinement--with him. The consequence
was, that, as we were talking, and she was looking through a book of
photographs, she fainted away."
"Ay! I heard something of that sort. She must be a curious person to be
so easily affected, or it was thoughtless of her husband to bring her
out too soon. He is an odd kind of man though, is he not? Absent, and
that kind of thing?"
"Ye-es; his heart is in his work, and he is generally thinking about
it."
"So I had imagined. What odd people you know, Arthur! Your
acquaintances all seem such strange people--so different from your
father's and mine!"
"Yes, mother," said Caterham, with a repetition of the sad smile;
"perhaps you're right generally. Your friends would scarcely care for
me, and I am sure I do not care for them. But Geoffrey Ludlow became
known to me through his old intimacy with Annie--our Annie."
"Ye-es. I scarcely know why 'our Annie,' though. You see, both your
father and I have many blood-relations, more or less distant, on either
side; and it would not be particularly convenient if the mere fact
of their being blood-relations compelled us to acknowledge them as
'ours.' Not that Ive any thing to say against Miss Maurice, though;
on the contrary, she's a very charming girl. At one time I thought
that--However, let that pass. She holds quite a different position now;
and I think every one will allow that my treatment of her is what it
should be."
"Of course, mother. No one would dream of doubting it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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