CHAPTER IX.
On entering the drawing-room, Randal found the two ladies seated close together, in a position much more appropriate to the familiarity of their school-days than to the politeness of the friendship now existing between them. Mrs. Hazeldean’s hand hung affectionately over Carry’s shoulder, and both those fair English faces were bent over the same book. It was pretty to see these sober matrons, so different from each other in character and aspect, thus unconsciously restored to the intimacy of happy maiden youth by the golden link of some Magician from the still land of Truth or Fancy, brought together in heart, as each eye rested on the same thought; closer and closer, as sympathy, lost in the actual world, grew out of that world which unites in one bond of feeling the readers of some gentle book.
“And what work interests you so much?” asked Randal, pausing by the table.
“One you have read, of course,” replied Mrs. Dale, putting a book-mark embroidered by herself into the page, and handing the volume to Randal. “It has made a great sensation, I believe.”
Randal glanced at the title of the work. “True,” said he, “I have heard much of it in London, but I have not yet had time to read it.”
MRS. DALE.—“I can lend it to you, if you like to look over it to-night, and you can leave it for me with Mrs. Hazeldean.”
PARSON (approaching).—“Oh, that book!—yes, you must read it. I do not know a work more instructive.”
RANDAL.—“Instructive! Certainly I will read it then. But I thought it was a mere work of amusement,—of fancy. It seems so as I look over it.”
PARSON.—“So is the ‘Vicar of Wakefield;’ yet what book more instructive?”
RANDAL.—“I should not have said that of the ‘Vicar of Wakefield.’ A pretty book enough, though the story is most improbable. But how is it instructive?”