Books OnLine

Eccles groaned in silence, but
possessed her soul in patience by reason of that change which she knew to
be coming over the internal economy of Kynaston Hall.
Maurice Kynaston reclines at ease in the most comfortable arm-chair in
the room, his feet reposing upon a second chair; his pipe is in his
mouth, and his hands in his trouser pockets; he wears a loose, gray
shooting-jacket, and Sir John's favourite terrier, Vic, has curled
herself into a little round white ball upon his outstretched legs.
Maurice has just been reading his morning's correspondence, and a letter
from Helen, announcing that her grandfather is ill and confined to his
room by bronchitis, is still in his hand. He looks gloomily and
abstractedly into the red logs of the wood fire. The door opens.
"Any orders for the stable, Captain?"
"None to-day, Mrs. Eccles."
"You are not going out hunting?"
"No, I am going to take a rest. By the way, Mrs. Eccles, I shall be
leaving to-morrow, so you can see about packing my things.


Pages:
233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257