Maltravers continued, "I never met the late lord. He had none of the vivacity of his nephew, I believe."
"I have heard that he was very severe," said Mrs. Merton, lifting her glass towards a party that had just entered.
"Severe!" exclaimed Evelyn. "Ah, if you could have known him! the kindest, the most indulgent—no one ever loved me as he did." She paused, for she felt her lip quiver.
"I beg your pardon, my dear," said Mrs. Merton, coolly. Mrs. Merton had no idea of the pain inflicted by treading upon a feeling. Maltravers was touched, and Mrs. Merton went on. "No wonder he was kind to you, Evelyn,—a brute would be that; but he was generally considered a stern man."
"I never saw a stern look, I never heard a harsh word; nay, I do not remember that he ever even used the word 'command,'" said Evelyn, almost angrily.
Mrs. Merton was about to reply, when suddenly seeing a lady whose little girl had been ill of the measles, her motherly thoughts flowed into a new channel, and she fluttered away in that sympathy which unites all the heads of a growing family. Evelyn and Maltravers were left alone.
"You do not remember your father, I believe?" said Maltravers.
"No father but Lord Vargrave; while he lived, I never knew the loss of one."
"Does your mother resemble you?"
"Ah, I wish I could think so; it is the sweetest countenance!"