Lady Moreham,
looking after them, said, slowly,
"How lovely youth is when it is lovely!"
"True, my lady, and there we see it at its best. Those girls are
charming, and it need surprise no one if these fine young fellows seek
them out, and hate to be separated. Carnegie seems of fine grain, and
little Miss Faith is as modest as a violet. She is your favorite, I
imagine?"
"Oh, I would not say that! I find myself very much attracted to both,
but there is something about Faith--a sympathy and tenderness,
perhaps,--that is soothing when one's heart is sore. Hope is
wonderfully entertaining, and brightens you up, but Faith seems to
understand without telling, and somehow makes you feel happier--more at
peace with yourself. I wish they were both my own!"
He let his mild gaze rest upon her.
"Lady Moreham, I am not an inquisitive man, but several times I have
been on the point of asking you a question." He could see that she
shrank, but continued obliviously, "Have you any kinsman by the name of
Duncan Glendower Moreham, from Kent, England?"
She turned with a gasp, white to the lips.
"Why?" she whispered with an effort, "Why?"
"Because," he returned, not looking at her, "I traveled and hunted with
him one whole season, two years ago. I sometimes exchange letters with
him, and have his address now. He seemed to me a restless, wretched
man, trying to drown some mental suffering in physical activity. He
gave no title with his name, and, like the rest of us, lived in the
most absolute simplicity, but I noticed the crest on his linen, and in
some books.
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