A half pathetic, half
humorous picture of the miserable Rupert staggering under the double
burden of his sleeping brother and a misplaced affection, or possibly
abandoning the one or both in the nearest ditch in a reckless access
of boyish frenzy and fleeing his home forever, rose before his eyes. He
seized his hat with the intention of seeking him--or forgetting him
in some other occupation by the way. For Mr. Ford had the sensitive
conscience of many imaginative people; an unfailing monitor, it was
always calling his whole moral being into play to evade it.
As he crossed the passage he came upon Mrs. Tripp hooded and elaborately
attired in a white ball dress, which however did not, to his own fancy,
become her as well as her ordinary costume. He was passing her with a
bow, when she said, with complacent consciousness of her appearance,
"Aren't you going to the ball to-night?"
He remembered then that "an opening ball" at the Court-house was a part
of the celebration. "No," he said smiling; "but it is a pity that Rupert
couldn't have seen you in your charming array.
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