“I beg you will forgive an intrusion which was not of my seeking. I came to pay my respects to Lord Kilgoff, and his servant showed me into this chamber until his Lordship should be ready to receive me.”
“Won't you be seated, sir?” said she, with an accent which it would be difficult to say whether it implied an invitation or the opposite.
Few men had more self-possession than Linton, fewer still knew better how to construe a mere accent, look, or a gesture; and yet, he stood now, uncertain and undecided how to act. Meanwhile Lady Kilgoff, arranging the frame of her embroidery, took her seat near the window.
“Penelope must have worked in Berlin wool, I 'm certain,” said Linton, as he approached where she sat. “These wonderful tissues seem never to finish.”
“In that lies their great merit,” replied she, smiling; “it is sometimes useful to have an occupation whose monotony disposes to thought, even when the thoughts themselves are not all pleasurable.”
“I should have fancied that monotony would dispose to brooding,” said he, slowly.
“Perhaps it may, now and then,” said she, carelessly. “Life, like climate, should not be all sunshine;” and then, as if wishing to change the theme, she added, “you have been absent a day or two?”
“Yes; an unexpected piece of fortune has befallen me. I find myself the heir of a considerable property, just as I have reached that point in life when wealth has no charm for me! There was a time when—but, no matter; regrets are half-brother to cowardice.”
“We can no more help one than the other, occasionally,” said she, with a faint sigh; and both were silent for some time.
“Is not that tulip somewhat too florid?” said he, stooping over her embroidery.