The thing was transparent to
Lord Dennis, and a smile settled in that nest of gravity between his
white peaked beard and moustaches. But he waited, the instinct of a
fisherman bidding him to neglect no piece of water, till he saw the
child silent and in repose, and watched carefully to see what would
rise. Although she was so calmly, so healthily eating, her eyes stole
round at Courtier. This quick look seemed to Lord Dennis perturbed, as
if something were exciting her. Then Harbinger spoke, and she turned
to answer him. Her face was calm now, faintly smiling, a little eager,
provocative in its joy of life. It made Lord Dennis think of his own
youth. What a splendid couple! If Babs married young Harbinger there
would not be a finer pair in all England. His eyes travelled back to
Courtier. Manly enough! They called him dangerous! There was a look of
effervescence, carefully corked down--might perhaps be attractive to a
girl! To his essentially practical and sober mind, a type like Courtier
was puzzling. He liked the look of him, but distrusted his ironic
expression, and that appearance of blood to the head. Fellow--no
doubt--that would ride off on his ideas, humanitarian! To Lord Dennis
there was something queer about humanitarians. They offended perhaps his
dry and precise sense of form. They were always looking out for cruelty
or injustice; seemed delighted when they found it--swelled up, as it
were, when they scented it, and as there was a good deal about, were
never quite of normal size.
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