And looking over his shoulder I was
aware of an old lady with a stick, hobbling somewhat
briskly along the garden path. She must have been
extremely handsome in her youth; and even the limp with
which she walked could not deprive her of an unusual
and almost menacing dignity of bearing. Melancholy was
impressed besides on every feature, and her eyes, as
she looked straight before her, seemed to contemplate
misfortune.
"She seems sad," said I, when she had hobbled past and
we had resumed our walk.
"She enjoy rather poor spirits, sir," responded the
under-gardener. "Mr. Carthew--the old gentleman, I
mean--died less than a year ago; Lord Tillibody, her
ladyship's brother, two months after; and then there
was the sad business about the young gentleman. Killed
in the 'unting-field, sir; and her ladyship's
favourite. The present Mr. Norris has never been so
equally."
"So I have understood," said I persistently, and (I
think) gracefully pursuing my inquiries and fortifying
my position as a family friend. "Dear, dear, how sad!
And has this change--poor Carthew's return, and all--
has this not mended matters?"
"Well, no, sir, not a sign of it," was the reply.
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