The Trial; Or, More Links of the Daisy ChainYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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The Trial; Or, More Links of the Daisy Chain
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Trials (Murder) -- Fiction
His resolution was, as usual, too evident to be combated, and it was
also plain that he chose to keep on the mask of prudent selfishness,
which he wore so naturally that it was hard to give him credit for any
other features; but this time Dr. May was not deceived. He fully
estimated the sacrifice, and would have prevented it if he could; but
he never questioned the sincerity of the motive, as it was not upon the
surface; and the token of dutiful affection, as coming from the least
likely quarter of his family, touched and comforted him. He dwelt on
it with increasing satisfaction, and answered all hurries and worries
with, 'I shall have time when Tome is come;' re-opened old schemes that
had died away when he feared to have no successor, and now and then
showed a certain comical dread of being drilled into conformity with
Tom's orderly habits.
There was less danger of their clashing, as the son had outgrown the
presumptions of early youth, and a change had passed over his nature
which Ethel had felt, rather than seen, during his fleeting visits at
home, more marked by negatives than positives, and untraced by
confidences. The bitterness and self-assertion had ceased to tinge his
words, the uncomfortable doubt that they were underlaid by satire had
passed away, and methodical and self-possessed as he always was, the
atmosphere of 'number one' was no longer apparent round all his doings.
He could be out of spirits and reserved without being either
ill-tempered or ironical; and Ethel, with this as the upshot of her
week's observations, was reassured as to the hopes of the father and
son working together without collisions. As soon as the die was cast,
and there was no danger of undue persuasion in 'stroking him down,' she
indulged herself by a warmly-grateful letter, and after she had sent
it, was tormented by the fear that it would be a great offence. The
answer was much longer than she had dared to expect, and alarmed her
lest it should be one of his careful ways of making the worst of
himself; but there was a large 'Private,' scored in almost menacing
letters on the top of the first sheet, and so much blotted in the
folding, that it was plain that he had taken alarm at the unreserve of
his own letter.
'My Dear Ethel,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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