'Right you are, grandmother,' returned Maulevrier, 'and I believe
Hammond calls himself a Conservative, and means to vote with the
Conservatives.'
Means to vote! An idle phrase, surely, thought her ladyship, where the
young man's chance of getting into Parliament was so remote.
That afternoon tea in Lady Maulevrier's room was almost as cheerful as
the tea-drinkings in the drawing-room, unrestrained by her ladyship's
presence. She was pleased with her grandson's conduct, and was therefore
inclined to be friendly to his friend. She could see an improvement in
Mary, too. The girl was more feminine, more subdued, graver, sweeter;
more like that ideal woman of Wordsworth's, whose image embodies all
that is purest and fairest in womanhood.
Mary had not forgotten that unlucky story about the fox-hunt, and ever
since Hammond's return she had been as it were on her best behaviour,
refraining from her races with the terriers, and holding herself aloof
from Maulevrier's masculine pursuits. She sheltered herself a good deal
under the Fraeulein's substantial wing, and took care never to intrude
herself upon the amusements of her brother and his friend.
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