The
light hair and florid complexion, the bright blue eyes and hardy upright
figure, familiar to her in the picture, were all recalled to her memory,
as the nephew followed the uncle across the room and took his place
at table. She was not prepared for this sudden revival of the lost
associations of home. Her attention wandered as she tried to conceal its
effect on her; and she made a blunder in waiting at table, for the first
time since she had entered the house.
A quaint reprimand from the admiral, half in jest, half in earnest,
gave her time to recover herself. She ventured another look at George
Bartram. The impression which he produced on her this time roused her
curiosity immediately. His face and manner plainly expressed anxiety and
preoccupation of mind. He looked oftener at his plate than at his
uncle, and at Magdalen herself (except one passing inspection of the new
parlor-maid, when the admiral spoke to her) he never looked at all. Some
uncertainty was evidently troubling his thoughts; some oppression
was weighing on his natural freedom of manner. What uncertainty? what
oppression? Would any personal revelations come out, little by little,
in the course of conversation at the dinner-table?
No.
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