She valued this constancy exceedingly, and
enthusiastically dilated on the young lady's goodness, and
indifference to the sensation she had created. "Lorimer allows he
never saw her equal for grace and dignity."
Allows! Fancy Frank _allowing_ any perfection in his Lenore! Was
it not possible that a little passing encomium on unusual beauty was
being promoted and magnified by the mother into a serious
attachment? But Lady Tyrrell was playing into her hands, and
Lenore's ecclesiastical proclivities were throwing her into the arms
of the family!
It hardly seemed fair to feign sympathy, yet any adverse hint would
be treason, and Mrs. Poynsett only asked innocently whether her
friend had seen her son Frank.
"Oh yes, often; the handsomest of all your sons, is he not?"
"Perhaps he is _now_."
"My girls rave about his beautiful brown eyes, just as you used to
do, Julia, five-and-thirty years ago."
Mrs. Poynsett was sure that whatever she had thought of Miles
Charnock's eyes five-and-thirty years ago, she had never raved about
them to Susan Lorimer, but she only said, "All my boys are like
their father except Charlie.
Pages:
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426