“It was quite unexpected,” said he, half in question,—“at least by me,” added he, after a pause.
She saw that some suspicion—she knew not of what, and as possibly cared as little—agitated him, and she turned away to the breakfast-table without speaking. Beecher, however, led her back again to the window. “I 'd like much to ask you a question,” said he, half timidly; “that is, if I did not fear you might take it ill.”
“And there is such a risk, is there?” asked she.
“Well, it is just possible,” faltered he.
“In that case, take my advice, and do not hazard it.” There was a calm resolution in her tone that carried more weight with it than anything like passion, and Beecher felt in his heart that he dared not reject her counsel.
Lizzy had now taken her place at the breakfast-table, her air, look, and manner being all that could denote a mind perfectly easy and contented. So consummate, too, was her tact, that she gradually led the conversation into that tone of pleasant familiarity when frank opinions are expressed and people talk without restraint; and thus, without the semblance of an effort, she succeeded, while developing any agreeability Beecher possessed, in silencing her father, whose judgments of men and events were not always the safest. As for Twining, she perfectly fascinated him. He was no mean critic in all that regards dress and manners; few men could more unerringly detect a flaw in breeding or a solecism in address. Mere acting, however good, would never have imposed upon him, and all the polish of manner and the charm of a finished courtesy would have failed with him if unaccompanied by that “sentiment” of good breeding which is its last and highest captivation. How subdued was all the flippant mockery of his manner! how respectful the tone in which he accosted her! It was the Viscountess, and not Grog Davis's daughter, he saw before him. Now Beecher saw all this, and a sense of pride swelled his heart, and made him almost forget his distrusts and suspicions. When breakfast was over, Lizzy, passing her arm within her father's, led him away. She had many things to say to him, and he to her, so that Beecher and Twining were left alone together.
“Well, Twining,” said Annesley, as he lighted a cigar, “tell me frankly,—don't you think I might have done worse?”
“Impossible to have done better,—impossible!” said Twining. “I don't speak of her Ladyship's beauty, in which she surpasses all I have ever seen, but her manner—her courtesy—has a blending of grace and dignity that would confer honor on the most finished Court in Europe.”
“I'm glad you say so, Twining; men quote you as an authority on these things, and I own frankly I am delighted to have my own judgment so ratified.”
“Her appearance in the world will be such a success as one has not seen for years!” exclaimed Twining.