“They are very worthy people—not stylish, but respectable. Was your father connected with them?”
“He was a school-mate of Mr. Middleton, I believe.”
“I say, Tom,” said James, “you must look out or you will get the gout there.”
“I’ll take care of that,” said Tom.
“Mrs. Middleton will, if you don’t.”
“James, you should not make such remarks,” said his mother. “It is true, I believe, that the Middletons are rather economical in their table expenses, but doubtless out of regard to Mr. Temple they will adopt a different policy.”
Tom smiled, but said nothing. He did not consider it honorable to refer to Mr. Middleton’s domestic arrangements.
At this moment two girls entered the room. One was evidently Mrs. Davenport’s daughter, as she bore a striking resemblance to that dignified lady. She was by no means pretty, but evidently thought considerable of herself, and was not troubled with bashfulness. She made a low courtesy, in the most approved dancing-school style, to Tom, who was sufficiently well-bred to acquit himself creditably.
“My daughter, Imogene, Mr. Temple,” said Mr. Davenport.
The other girl was probably a year younger, and as pretty as Imogene was unattractive. But she was plainly dressed, and had a timid, retiring look. In fact she was a poor cousin, a dependent upon the lawyer’s bounty, and made to feel her position by all the family.