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Updated: May 23, 2025
But it was essential there should be no fresh excitement, such as the knowledge of Marsham's arrival would certainly arouse. Mrs. Colwood could hardly bring herself to speak of Fanny Merton. She was, of course, still in the house sulking and inclined to blame everybody, her dead uncle in particular, rather than herself.
In the beatitude induced by a completed article and an afternoon smoke, he was for the moment incapable of taking a tragic view either of Marsham's shortcomings or his prospects. "Certainly, we shall turn him out." "Ah! a Labor candidate?" said the doctor, showing a little more energy.
"Get in!" It was a cry of astonishment passing on into constraint. "I thought Mr. Marsham's seat was absolutely safe." "Not it." Bobbie began to flounder. "The fact is it's not safe at all; it's uncommonly shaky. He'll have a squeak for it. They're not so sweet on him down there as they used to be." Gracious! if she were to ask why!
All this he did in a mild, emotionless manner. There was no boyish interest or amusement in it. Just a calm, serious immobility that gave one the impression of a painting by one of the old European masters. Elia was Eve Marsham's crippled brother. He was seven years younger than she, and was just about to turn sixteen. In reality he was more than a cripple.
In spite of his inattention of the night before, the interest of Miss Mallory's appearance upon the scene at Tallyn had not been lost upon him, any more than upon other people. The rumor had preceded her arrival that Marsham had been very much "smitten" with her amid the pine woods of Portofino. Marsham's taste was good emphatically good.
Half shyly, yet with a quickening of the heart, she remembered Marsham's farewell to her of that morning, his look of the night before. Intellectually, she was comparatively mature; in other respects, as inexperienced and impressionable as any convent girl. "I fear luncheon is impossible!" said Lady Lucy's voice. Diana looked up and saw her descending the stairs. "Such a pity!
He recognized it for a fact that, as regarded the past, no more was to be said. There were to be no reproaches, and there must be some tacit abandoning of Mrs Marsham's close attendance. As to Mr Bott; he had begun to hate Mr Bott, and had felt cruelly ungrateful, when that gentleman endeavoured to whisper a word into his ear as he passed through the doorway into Lady Monk's dining-room.
He assured her that he was far from keeping any watch over her, and declared that she had altogether mistaken Mrs Marsham's character. Then there was another little grimace. "There's somebody has mistaken it worse than I have," the grimace said. Of the bristly baboon he condescended to say nothing, and he wound up by giving her a cold kiss, and saying that he would meet her at Lady Monk's.
Lady Lucy's check, in fact, sent, through her son, to the leading party club, had been of considerable importance in the election five years before this date, in which Marsham himself had been returned; the Chief Whip wanted to assure himself that in case of need it would be repeated. But for the first time in a conversation of this kind Marsham's reply was halting and uncertain.
"These pictures?" faltered Diana, looking round her, her tone changing. "Oh, not those horrible frescos! Those were perpetrated by Marsham's father. They represent, as you see, the different processes of the Iron Trade. Old Henry Marsham liked them, because, as he said, they explained him, and the house. Oliver would like to whitewash them but for filial piety.
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