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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.
