"
CHAPTER VIII.
I see no beauty in this wealthy dame;
'Neath the dark lashes of her downcast eyes
A weeping spirit lurks. And when she smiles,
'Tis but the sunbeams of an April day,
Piercing a watery cloud.--S.M.
"So Colonel Hurdlestone's son and nephew arrived at the Hall last night.
Reach me down Juliet's portfolio, Dorothy; I must write the good Colonel
a congratulatory note," said Captain Whitmore to his solemn-faced
sister.
The Captain was a weather-beaten stout old gentleman, who had seen some
hard service during the war, and what with wounds, hard-drinking, and
the gout, had been forced to relinquish the sea, and anchor for life in
the pretty village of Norgood, where he held property, through the death
of the rich Mr. Henderson, to a considerable amount. His wife had been
dead for some years, and his only daughter, whom he scarcely suffered
out of his sight, was educated at home, under the superintendence of her
aunt, who professed to be the most accomplished, as she certainly was
the most disagreeable, woman in the world.
"I think, Captain Whitmore, you had better defer your congratulations
until you see what sort of persons these young men are. Mrs. Grant
assured me yesterday that one of these gentlemen is very wild. Quite a
profligate."
"Fiddlesticks!" said the jolly Captain, snapping his fingers.
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