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While the kinsmen thus conversed, Lady Glenalvon had seated herself on the couch beside Kenelm, and was quietly observing his countenance. Now she spoke. "My dear Mr. Mivers, you will have many opportunities of talking with Kenelm; do not grudge me five minutes' talk with him now." "I leave your ladyship alone in your hermitage. How all the men in this assembly will envy the hermit!"
Kenelm Chillingly in reply largely availed himself of those new ideas which were to influence the rising generation, and with which he had been rendered familiar by the journal of Mr. Mivers and the conversation of Mr. Welby. He briefly disposed of the ancestral part of the question.
Adjoining the library on one side was a small dining or rather breakfast room, hung with valuable pictures, presents from living painters. Many of these painters had been severely handled by Mr. Mivers in his existence as "We," not always in "The Londoner." His most pungent criticisms were often contributed to other intellectual journals conducted by members of the same intellectual clique.
"Arrah, and what shall we make way for the like of you, you old busybody?" said one of the dames, turning round, and presenting a very formidable squint to the broad optics of Mrs. Mivers. Without deigning a reply, Mrs. Mivers had recourse to her usual tactics.
Interest many of them had in the approaching struggle, but it was much such an interest as betters of small sums may have on the Derby day, just enough to give piquancy to the race; nothing to make gain a great joy, or loss a keen anguish. "Our host is looking ill," said Mivers, accosting Kenelm. "I detect symptoms of suppressed gout.
At that thought he hurried on through the crowd, but only reached the object of his pursuit just in time to see her placed in a coach, and to catch a full view of the luxuriant proportions of Mrs. Mivers as she followed her into the vehicle. Love sharpens the wit and animates the timid; a thought worthy of the most experienced inspired Percival St.
M.!" At that last repetition of the beloved and familiar initial, uttered in a tone of almost superhuman anguish, the conjugal heart of Mrs. Mivers was afflicted beyond control. "Wait here a moment, my dear; I'll just give it them, that's all!" And in another moment Mrs. Mivers was heard bustling, scolding, till all trace of her whereabout was gone from the eyes of Helen.
Mivers, triumphantly; and she proceeded philosophically to explain that all the fevers, aches, pains, and physical ills that harass the poor arise from the want of an air-trap in the chimney and a perforated network in the window-pane. Becky listened patiently; for Mrs.
Mivers did not seem to receive as graciously as Percival, poor fellow, had a right to expect. She stared him full in the face, and shook her head suspiciously when she saw him a little confused by the survey. Then, tucking Helen tightly under her arm, she walked back towards the Haymarket, merely saying to Percival, "Much obligated, and good-night.
Out of breath and out of patience, he gave in at last; and the baronet, still holding his reluctant arm, led him back towards the house. After a prolonged pause, Sir Miles said abruptly: "I have been thinking that I may have unwittingly injured this man, this Mivers, while I deemed only that he injured me.
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