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Updated: June 8, 2025
The avowal terrified Constance, and she lost her self-possession. "Oh don't! don't!" she uttered. "You must not, indeed! you do not know the mischief it might do." "Mischief to what? to whom?" exclaimed Mr. Huntley. Constance buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears. The next moment she had raised it, and taken Mr. Huntley's hand between hers. "You are papa's friend!
Come, I have got on my strong boots on purpose! at once." "At once?" he repeats, a little doubtfully turning over the letters that lie in a heap beside his plate. "Well, I do not know about that duty first, and pleasure afterward. Had not I better go to Zéphine Huntley's first, and get it over?"
He slowly paced the room, as was his custom when anything disturbed him, stopping at moments to reflect, buried in thought. Ellen sat at a table by the window, drawing. The house was Mr. Huntley's own a white villa with a sloping lawn in front. It was situated outside the town, on a gentle eminence, and commanded a view of the charming scenery for which the county was famous.
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