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Chapter I. I Go to Styles

           Thenthere’stheDuchess—abouttheschoolfête.”

           Therewasthemurmurofaman’svoice,andthenMrs.Inglethorp’sroseinreply:

           “Yes,certainly.Afterteawilldoquitewell.Youaresothoughtful,Alfreddear.”

           TheFrenchwindowswungopenalittlewider,andahandsomewhite-hairedoldlady,withasomewhatmasterfulcastoffeatures,steppedoutofitontothelawn.Amanfollowedher,asuggestionofdeferenceinhismanner.

           Mrs.Inglethorpgreetedmewitheffusion.

           “Why,ifitisn’ttoodelightfultoseeyouagain,Mr.Hastings,afteralltheseyears.Alfred,darling,Mr.Hastings—myhusband.”

           Ilookedwithsomecuriosityat“Alfreddarling”.Hecertainlystruckaratheraliennote.IdidnotwonderatJohnobjectingtohisbeard.ItwasoneofthelongestandblackestIhaveeverseen.Heworegold-rimmedpince-nez,andhadacuriousimpassivityoffeature.Itstruckmethathemightlooknaturalonastage,butwasstrangelyoutofplaceinreallife.Hisvoicewasratherdeepandunctuous.Heplacedawoodenhandinmineandsaid:

           “Thisisapleasure,Mr.Hastings.”Then,turningtohiswife:“Emilydearest,Ithinkthatcushionisalittledamp.”

           Shebeamedfondlyonhim,ashesubstitutedanotherwitheverydemonstrationofthetenderestcare.Strangeinfatuationofanotherwisesensiblewoman!

           WiththepresenceofMr.Inglethorp,asenseofconstraintandveiledhostilityseemedtosettledownuponthecompany.MissHoward,inparticular,tooknopainstoconcealherfeelings.Mrs.Inglethorp,however,seemedtonoticenothingunusual.

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