He lived to see the roses and orange blossoms of the
early spring, and died in his arm-chair suddenly, without a pang, while
Mary sat at his feet reading to him: a quiet end of an evil and troubled
life. And now he whom the world had known as Lord Maulevrier was verily
the earl, and could hear himself called by his title once more without a
touch of shame.
The secret of Lady Maulevrier's sin had been so faithfully kept by the
two young men that neither of her granddaughters knew the true story of
that mysterious person whom Mary had first heard of as James Steadman's
uncle. She and Lesbia both knew that there were painful circumstances of
some kind connected with this man's existence, his hidden life in the
old house at Fellside; but they were both content to learn no more.
Respect for their grandmother's memory, sorrowful affection for the
dead, prevailed over natural curiosity.
Early in February Maulevrier sent decorators and upholsterers into the
old house in Curzon Street, which was ready before the middle of May to
receive his lordship and his young wife, the girlish daughter of a
Florentine nobleman, a gazelle-eyed Italian, with a voice whose every
tone was music, and with the gentlest, shyest, most engaging manners of
any girl in Florence.
Pages:
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910