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For Sarah Austen had had a morality of her own, and on occasions had given expression to extreme views. "She's not playin' with you?" was Euphrasia's next question, and her tone boded ill to any young person who would indulge in these tactics with Austen. He shook his head again, and smiled at her vehemence. "No, she's not playing with me she isn't that kind.
A young woman who was a stunner, who rode wild horses and fell off them and rode them again, was beyond the pale not only of Euphrasia's experience but of her imagination likewise. And this hoyden had talked as though she took an interest in Austen! Euphrasia was speechless. "The next time I saw her," said Tom, "was when she came down here to listen to Humphrey Crewe's attacks on the railroad.
"I was just thinking of you!" she said, in a low voice of tenderness which many people would not have recognized as Euphrasia's; as though her thoughts of him were the errant ones of odd moments! "I'm so glad you come. It's lonesome here of evenings, Austen." He entered silently and sat down beside her, in a Windsor chair which had belonged to some remote Austen of bygone days.
With Victoria once again in the light, Euphrasia scrutinized her with appalling frankness, taking in every detail of her costume and at length raising her eyes to the girl's face. Victoria coloured. On her visits about the country-side she had met women of Euphrasia's type before, and had long ago ceased to be dismayed by their manner.
Austen's words, unconsciously, were an answer to her thoughts. "It isn't anybody's fault but my own," he said. Euphrasia's lips were tightly closed.
I think he'd like it." "Nonsense, Rod! You can't. When Aunt Euphrasia's away." "She would come back, if you asked her; wouldn't she? I think it would be a charity. Put it to her as an opportunity. She'd drop anything she might be about for an opportunity. I wonder if she ever goes back upon her tracks and finishes up?
He felt himself tremble at the name, at the strangeness of its sound on Euphrasia's lips. "I do not expect to see Miss Flint," he answered, controlling himself as well as he was able. "I have an errand for the Judge with Mr. Flint himself." Euphrasia had guessed his secret! But how? "Hadn't you better see her?" said Euphrasia, in a curious monotone.
The answer seemed to recall, with infinite pathos, Euphrasia's long-lost youth, and he had not thought of youth as a quality which could ever have pertained to her.
The scrivener would have murdered the Pope and run amuck through the whole sacred college to procure the miserable sum of a hundred louis to pay for a shawl which had turned Euphrasia's head, at which price her waiting-woman had promised that Euphrasia should be his.
The choice of the piece had in it, in my opinion, an ingredient of bad taste, which, objectionable as it seemed to me, had undoubtedly entered into the calculation of the management, as likely to increase the effect and success of the play; I mean the constant reference to Euphrasia's filial devotion, and her heroic and pious efforts in behalf of her old father incidents in the piece which were seized upon and applied to my father and myself by the public, and which may have perhaps added to the feeling of the audience, as they certainly increased my dislike for the play.
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