Mr. Templeton, who was a man very cold in his manners, and always either looked over people’s heads or down upon the ground, just touched his nephew’s outstretched hand, and telling him he was welcome, observed that it was a very fine afternoon.
“Very, indeed; sweet place this; you see, by the way, that I have already made acquaintance with my fair cousin-in-law. She is very pretty.”
“I really think she is,” said Mr. Templeton, with some warmth, and gazing fondly at the child, who was now throwing buttercups up in the air, and trying to catch them. Mr. Ferrers wished in his heart that they had been brickbats!
“Is she like her mother?” asked the nephew.
“Like whom, sir?”
“Her mother—Mrs. Templeton.”
“No, not very; there is an air, perhaps, but the likeness is not remarkably strong. Would you not like to go to your room before dinner?”
“Thank you. Can I not first be presented to Mrs. Tem—”
“She is at her devotions, Mr. Lumley,” interrupted Mr. Templeton, grimly.
“The she-hypocrite!” thought Ferrers. “Oh, I am delighted that your pious heart has found so congenial a helpmate!”