"
This letter reached Sir John Meredith while he was waiting for the
announcement that dinner was ready. The announcement arrived
immediately afterwards, but he did not go down to dinner until he
had read the letter. He fumbled for his newly-purchased eyeglasses,
because Lady Cantourne's handwriting was thin and spidery, as became
a lady of standing; also the gas was so d----d bad. He used this
expression somewhat freely, and usually put a "Sir" after it as his
father had done before him.
His eyes grew rather fierce as he read; then they suddenly softened,
and he threw back his shoulders as he had done a thousand times on
the threshold of Lady Cantourne's drawing-room. He read the whole
letter very carefully and gravely, as if all that the writer had to
say was worthy of his most respectful attention. Then he folded the
paper and placed it in the breast-pocket of his coat. He looked a
little bowed and strangely old, as he stood for a moment on the
hearthrug thinking. It was his practice to stand thus on the
hearthrug from the time that he entered the drawing-room, dressed,
until the announcement of dinner; and the cook far below in the
basement was conscious of the attitude of the master as the pointer
of the clock approached the hour.
Of late Sir John had felt a singular desire to sit down whenever
opportunity should offer; but he had always been found standing on
the hearthrug by the butler, and, hard old aristocrat that he was,
he would not yield to the somewhat angular blandishments of the
stiff-backed chair.
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