"These things never do come right again, Margaret."
CHAPTER III.
Wordes sharply wound, but greatest grief of scorning growes.
SPENSER.
Tal d'un alma l'effanno sepolto
Si travede in un riso fallace,
Ché la pace mal finge nel volto
Chi si sente la guerra nel cor.
METASTASIO.
Mr. Singleton breakfasted at nine o'clock; and it was the custom of the house for everybody to appear at that meal. At half past eight, the worthy squire read prayers in the chapel; and at this ceremony all the servants, and such visitors as pleased, attended.
This had been a custom in the house from the days of Edward the Sixth; and Mr. Singleton would on no account have omitted it; though his performance of this duty was something odd. Any one might have thought from his tones, that he was calling over the names of his hounds. Margaret made a point of attending; and found Mrs. Singleton, Harriet, and Mr. Humphries assembled.
As soon as prayers were over, Harriet hurried off to make breakfast; and commanded Margaret to sit beside her; and by degrees the rest of the visitors assembled round the table. Some little time after they were all collected, George Gage came into the room; made some very earnest inquiries after Mrs. Singleton's health; which that lady imperfectly heard, and replied to very mildly; and then begged to know whether Miss Capel had recovered the fatigue of her journey. Having received a satisfactory answer to this question, he remained standing on the hearth-rug, looking at all the people, as if they were eating and drinking for his sole amusement.
"Do you ever eat breakfast, Mr. Gage?" asked Harriet, after he had remained some time in the same position.
"Thank you—yes. I breakfasted an hour ago."