ward gaze had given place to a glance almost as outward-looking and unspeculative as his mother’s.
“It shows—well, yes—what you say!” he rejoined with a slight laugh, and a tap on her shoulder as she passed.
He was under no illusions as to his father-in-law’s attitude: he knew that Mr. Langhope would willingly have broken the will which deprived his grand-daughter of half her inheritance, and that his subsequent show of friendliness was merely a concession to expediency. But in his present mood Amherst almost believed that time and closer relations might turn such sentiments into honest liking. He was very fond of his little step-daughter, and deeply sensible of his obligations toward her; and he hoped that, as Mr. Langhope came to recognize this, it might bring about a better understanding between them.
His mother detained him. “You’re going back to the mills at once? I wanted to consult you about the rooms. Miss Brent had better be next to Cicely?”
“I suppose so—yes. I’ll see you before I go.” He nodded affectionately and passed on, his hands full of papers, into the Oriental smoking-room, now dedicated to the unexpected uses of an office and study.
Mrs. Amherst, as she turned away, found the parlour-maid in the act of opening the front door to the highly-tinted and well-dressed figure of Mrs. Harry Dressel.
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