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Updated: June 22, 2025
The Dean was prudent; he smiled and finished his glass. "If I chose to believe in the Crusade, I could," Morewood went on with a satirical smile. "Or with an adequate effort I could think Jimmy Benyon brilliant, or Fred Wentworth wise, or Alexander Quisanté honest. That's it, eh, Mr. Dean?"
But he did not see; he was blind in this matter, even as, say, Ayre or Morewood would have proved blind if called upon to study and describe the mental process of a religious conversation. He was yet far from realizing that an influence had entered his life in force strong enough to contend with that which had so long ruled him with undivided sway.
"This," said Ayre to Morewood, with a wave of his hand, "is an abandoned young man." "It is," said Morewood. "Bob Territon is going rat-hunting, and proposes we shall also go. What say you?" "I say yes," said Sir Roderick, with alacrity. "It's a beastly cruel sport." "You have lost," said Morewood, as they walked away together. "Wait a bit!" said his companion. "But, young Eugene!
The men sat looking at it in amazement. Eugene was half angry, half alarmed. Ayre was closely studying the picture, his old look of cynical amusement struggling with a surprise which it was against his profession to admit. They forgot to praise the picture; but Morewood was well content with their tacit homage.
Then in a moment, recollecting himself, he looked at the two men, and saw what he had done. They tried to look as if they noticed nothing. "You must destroy that thing, Morewood," said he. Morewood's face was a study. "I would as soon," he said deliberately, "cut off my right hand." "I'll give you a thousand pounds for it," said Eugene. "What would you do with it?" "Burn it."
"I say, Morewood," said Ayre, breaking in on the discourse, "do you think it's fair to keep that fellow Stafford in the dark?" "Is he in the dark?" "It's a queer thing, but he is. I never knew a man who was in love before without knowing it, they say women are that way, but then I never met a 'Father' before." "What do you propose, since you insist on gossiping?"
I have spent a miserable month." "So have I." "Because I could not see the person I love best in the world." "Ah! that wasn't my reason." "Claudia, you must give me an answer." Claudia rose, and joined her aunt and Morewood. She gave Eugene no further opportunity for private conversation, and soon after the ladies took their leave.
The "we" grated still on Marchmont's feelings, and the worse because it seemed to come more easily and naturally from her lips. Yet that might be only the result of practice; she had looked at him in a merry defiance as the last words left her lips. "And you get other people to try your things too," pursued Morewood. "Look here, you don't mean me, do you?" Jimmy Benyon put in.
"I feel," she said in a low voice and slowly, "as if I must see what becomes of him and as if it ought to be seen at close quarters." Then Morewood spoke with deliberate plainness. "You know better than I do that he's not of your class; I mean in himself, not merely where he happens to come from. And for my part I'm not sure that he's an honest man, and I don't think he's a high-minded one."
"I should think you did," said Morewood. "A man ought to have a few," May suggested. "A sort of trimming to the leg of mutton? Only take care the mutton's there!" "Oh, not the mustard without the beef!" cried May. "Now there's Canon Grinling," said Mrs. Baxter. "That's the man I admire." "Pray tell us about him," urged Morewood. "He's content to preach in his turn and work his parish."
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