at Labutín Castle, without any apparent change having taken place in the position or circumstances of the various persons we have become acquainted with in this story. Everything went on smoothly, like a train on the rails. Beneath the surface, perhaps, new events may have been preparing, and changes taking place; but if so, there was nothing of it to be observed.
Carefully evading the watchfulness of the castle ladies and their menials, Jenny seized every opportunity she could of observing very closely all Edmund’s movements. If his voice changed in the least from its usual tone, she perceived it at once, and tried to find out the cause and to discover what was passing in the speaker’s mind. For many long months Edmund’s manner to her was always that of the measured gentleman. He never went out of her way, but never tried to meet her either. Whenever he addressed her before his mother or sister, he always spoke with that polished indifference which only gentlemen and men of mental superiority, well versed in society, know how to employ. She watched the expression of his eyes with the greatest attention, and it seemed to her as if they shone with a brighter gleam when looking at her, and as if he regarded her to say the least—with less indifference than other ladies. But this was nearly all the result of her first observations, and even this was doubtful.
It happened, of course, that they met now and then alone, in the castle, or the park, or in other places, and had longer talks with each other; but even on these occasions Baron Mundy never overstepped the bounds of a formal politeness; and though his voice at times betrayed some fervency, he never allowed himself any familiarity with her.
