“I thought he would not be. I remarked so to Sarah Anne, when she expressed a hope of seeing him: indeed, I think it was that hope which chiefly urged her to come. What have we done to him, Mr. George? He scarcely ever comes near the house.”
“I don’t know anything about it,” returned George. “I can see that my brother still feels his loss deeply. It may be, Lady Sarah, that visits to your house remind him too forcibly of Ethel.”
Lady Sarah lowered her voice to a confidential whisper: “Will he ever marry, think you?”
“At present I should be inclined to say he never would,” answered George, wondering what in the world it could matter to Lady Sarah, and thinking she showed little sorrow or consideration for the memory of Ethel. “But time works surprising changes,” he added: “and time may marry Mr. Godolphin.”
Lady Sarah paused. “How do you think she looks—my poor child?”
“Miserable,” all but rose to the tip of George’s tongue. “She does not look well,” he said aloud.
“And she does so regret her dear sister; she’s grieving after her always,” said Lady Sarah, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
“I don’t believe it,” thought George to himself.
“How do you like your new residence?” she resumed, passing with little ceremony to another topic.
“I like it very well. All places are pretty much alike to a bachelor, Lady Sarah.”