Ellen’s cheeks answered—not her lips, nor her eyes, which were bent upon a purse she was netting.
“But I think he will,” added Gabriel. “I think I have mistaken Lawrence Newt if he does not.”
“He is usually very thoughtful,” whispered Ellen, as she netted busily.
“Ellen, how handsome Edward is!” said Gabriel, with enthusiasm.
The young woman said nothing.
“And how good!” added Gabriel.
“He is,” she answered, scarcely audibly. Then she said she had left something up stairs. How many things are discovered by young women, under certain circumstances, to have been left up stairs! Ellen rose and left the room.
“I was saying to your father, Gabriel,” said his mother, raising her voice, and still sewing, “that Edward comes here a great deal.”
“Yes, mother; and I am glad of it. He has very few friends in the city.”
“He looks like a Spaniard,” said Mr. Bennet, slowly, dwelling upon every word. “How rich that lustrous tropical complexion is! Its duskiness is mysterious. The young man’s eyes are like summer moonlight.”