Phantom Fortune, a NovelBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Phantom Fortune, a Novel
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
English fiction -- 19th century
John Hammond received his tea-cup from Lesbia's hand, and lingered in
the drawing-room talking to the dowager and her granddaughters till it
was time to dress. Lady Maulevrier found herself favourably impressed by
him in spite of her prejudices. It was very provoking of Maulevrier to
have brought such a man to Fellside. His very merits were objectionable.
She tried with exquisite art to draw him into some revealment as to his
family and antecedents: but he evaded every attempt of that kind. It was
too evident that he was a self-made man, whose intellect and good looks
were his only fortune. It was criminal in Maulevrier to have brought
such a person to Fellside. Her ladyship began to think seriously of
sending the two girls to St. Bees or Tynemouth for change of air, in
charge of Fräulein. But any sudden proceeding of that kind would
inevitably awaken Lesbia's suspicions; and there is nothing so fatal to
a woman's peace as this idea of danger. No, the peril must be faced. She
could only hope that Maulevrier would soon tire of Fellside. A week's
Westmoreland weather--gray skies and long rainy days, would send these
young men away.
CHAPTER IX.
A CRY IN THE DARKNESS.
The peril had to be faced, for the weather did not favour Lady
Maulevrier's hopes. Westmoreland skies forgot to shed their accustomed
showers. Westmoreland hills seemed to have lost their power of drawing
down the rain. That August was a lovely month, and the young people at
Fellside revelled in ideal weather. Maulevrier took his friend
everywhere--by hill and stream and force and gill--to all those chosen
spots which make the glory of the Lake country--on Windermere and
Thirlmere, away through the bleak pass of Kirkstone to Ullswater--on
driving excursions, and on boating excursions, and pedestrian rambles,
which latter the homely-minded Hammond seemed to like best of all, for
he was a splendid walker, and loved the freedom of a mountain ramble,
the liberty to pause and loiter and waste an hour at will, without being
accountable to anybody's coachman, or responsible for the well-being of
anybody's horses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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