A quiet,
grave, preoccupied manner. While Dr. Bowdler and some of the others
crowded about him, he stood, speaking seldom, his hands clasped behind
him and his head bent forward, the gray hair brushed straight up from
his forehead. Miss Defourchet was disappointed a little: the best of
women like to patronize, and she had meant to meet him as an equal,
recognize him in this new atmosphere of refinement into which he was
brought, set him at his ease, as she did Andy, by a few quiet words. But
he was her equal: more master of this or any occasion than she, because
so thoroughly unconscious, standing on something higher. She suspected,
too, he had been used to a life as cultivated as this, long ago, by the
low, instructed voice, the intangible simplicity of look and word
belonging to the bred gentleman.
"They may fuss as they please about him now," chuckled Andy to himself,
"but darn a one of 'em would have smuggled him into them clothes. Spruce
they look, too; baggy about the knees, maybe. No, thank you, Miss; I've
had sufficient," putting down the wine he had barely sipped,--groaning
inwardly; but he knew what was genteel, I hope, and that comforted him
afterwards.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154