Mary Seaham: A Novel. Volume 2 of 3Grey, Mrs. (Elizabeth Caroline)
General
Mary Seaham: A Novel. Volume 2 of 3
Grey, Mrs. (Elizabeth Caroline)
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Mate selection -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
In the exuberance of his feelings, he would probably, at least by a
glance, have thanked his mother for the service she had so auspiciously
rendered him; but Mrs. Trevor's looks were sorrowfully averted, and he
passed her by, not caring to irritate his father by any more manifest
token of attention. He did, however, stop to shake hands with Eustace as
he passed the window near which he stood--the first greeting exchanged
between the brothers, who had not met before for several months.
Eustace Trevor returned his brother's greeting with no lack of kindly
warmth. He had stood mute and motionless as a statue throughout the late
trying scene which had been enacted. No sign of dark passion--of
envious, hateful feeling could have been read upon that countenance,
pale as marble, and beautiful in its nobly-suppressed emotion. Only
once--that time when his mother had raised her meek voice in his
defence, had an expression of strong feeling--a mixture of disdain,
indignation, and grateful affection--broke forth over his countenance,
and his dark, full eyes turned upon that much-loved champion with a
glance not to be described, whilst his lips moved as if he were about to
entreat her not to distress herself for his sake, when his father's
angry interruption had more effectually supplied any deprecation on his
part to that effect.
But now, having returned, as we have said, his brother's greeting in a
manner which showed no particle of invidious feeling to have been
excited against the object of such unjust and unmerited favouritism;
when, too, his mother had softly and sadly left the room, without daring
to cast another look upon the beloved object for whom her heart was
bleeding; he came forth and stood before his father, with a firm and
composed mien and countenance.
"Father!" he said.
Mr. Trevor was looking over some drawer in his _escritoire_, with no
very happy expression of countenance.
"Well, Sir?" glancing upwards, speaking in the most sharp, irritated
tone and manner, "what in the name of ---- do you want now? I must
request you to pester me no more to-night, we will return to the
pleasant task of settling the rest of your debts to-morrow."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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