" Sir Robert and Lady Mainwaring were courteous but
slightly embarrassed. Lady Canterbridge, who had come to the station in
bored curiosity, raised her clear blue eyes to his. He did not look like
a fool, a complaisant or fashionably-cynical husband--this well-dressed,
well-mannered, but quietly and sympathetically observant man. Did he
really care for his selfish wife? was it perfect trust or some absurd
Transatlantic custom? She did not understand him. It wearied her and she
turned her eyes indifferently away. Bradley, a little irritated, he knew
not why, at the scrutiny of this tall, handsome, gentlemanly-looking
woman, who, however, in spite of her broad shoulders and narrow hips
possessed a refined muliebrity superior to mere womanliness of outline,
turned slightly towards Sir Robert. "Lady Canterbridge, Frank's cousin,"
explained Sir Robert, hesitatingly, as if conscious of some vague
awkwardness. Bradley and Lady Canterbridge both bowed,--possibly the
latter's salutation was the most masculine,--and Bradley, eventually
forgetting her presence, plunged into an earnest, sympathetic, and
intelligent account of the condition in which he found the invalid at
St. Moritz. The old man at first listened with an almost perfunctory
courtesy and a hesitating reserve; but as Bradley was lapsing into
equal reserve and they drove up to the gates of the quadrangle, he
unexpectedly warmed with a word or two of serious welcome.
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