He had something on his mind, and she could not fail to see that
he had. It was not that awful dread that seemed to possess him in his
first wife's time; nevertheless it was a weight which told more or less
on his spirits at all times. To Anne it appeared like remorse; yet she
might never have thought this, but for a word or two he let slip
occasionally. Was it connected with his children? She could almost have
fancied so: and yet in what manner could it be? His behaviour was
peculiar. He rather avoided them than not; but when with them was almost
passionately demonstrative, exactingly jealous that due attention should
be paid to them: and he seemed half afraid of caressing Anne's baby, lest
it should be thought he cared for it more than for the others. Altogether
Lady Hartledon puzzled her brains in vain: she could not make him out.
When she questioned him he would deny that there was anything the matter,
and said it was her fancy.
They were at Hartledon alone: that is, without the countess-dowager.
That respected lady, though not actually domiciled with them during the
past twelve-month, had paid them three long visits. She was determined
to retain her right in the household--if right it could be called. The
dowager was by far too wary to do otherwise; and her behaviour to Anne
was exceedingly mild. But somehow she contrived to retain, or continually
renew, her evil influence over the children; though so insidiously, that
Lady Hartledon could never detect how or when it was done, or openly meet
it.
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