"
He was leaning on his left elbow, talking volubly; his eyes were bright,
his right hand moved in rapid apt gestures; his voice was sanguine as he
spoke of the seven years' extension of the Alethea patent; he had
forgotten his stroke and the verdict of his doctors. Aunt Maria nodded
her head to him, saying, "I'll send it you as soon as I can," and made
for the door. She was smiling now; Sandro seemed more himself again. He,
left alone, lay back on his pillow, breathing fast, rather exhausted; but
after awhile he opened the engagement-book again and ran his eyes up and
down its columns. Lady Mildmay found him thus occupied when she came to
give him a cup of milk.
CHAPTER XVIII.
FOR LACK OF LOVE?
Weston Marchmont, punctilious to the verge of fastidiousness, or even
over it, in his conduct towards the world and his friends, allowed
himself easily enough a liberty of speculative opinion which the Dean of
St. Neot's would have hesitated about and the Dean's wife decidedly
veiled by a reference to Providence.
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