Lady Maulevrier was
sitting by the fire, in a melancholy attitude, with the Blenheim spaniel
on her lap. Her son was at Hastings with his nurses. She had nothing
nearer and dearer than the spaniel.
She rose and went over to her husband, and let him kiss her. It would
have been too much to say that she kissed him; but she submitted her
lips unresistingly to his, and then they sat down on opposite sides of
the hearth.
'A wretched afternoon,' said his lordship, shivering, and drawing his
chair closer to the fire. Steadman had taken away his fur-lined cloak.
'I had really underrated the disagreeableness of the English climate. It
is abominable!'
'To-day is not a fair sample,' answered her ladyship, trying to be
cheerful; 'we have had some pleasant autumn days.'
'I detest autumn!' exclaimed Lord Maulevrier. 'a season of dead leaves,
damp, and dreariness. I should like to get away to Montpellier or Nice
as soon as we can.'
Her ladyship gave him a scathing look, half-scornful, half-incredulous.
'You surely would not dream of leaving the country,' she said, 'under
present circumstances.
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