She appeared, as he had
seen her on former occasions, rather composed than agitated; but a nicer
judge than he could scarce have determined whether her calmness was that
of despair or of indifference. Bucklaw was too much agitated by his own
feelings minutely to scrutinise those of the lady. He stammered out an
unconnected address, confounding together the two or three topics to
which it related, and stopt short before he brought it to any regular
conclusion. Miss Ashton listened, or looked as if she listened, but
returned not a single word in answer, continuing to fix her eyes on
a small piece of embroidery on which, as if by instinct or habit, her
fingers were busily employed. Lady Ashton sat at some distance, almost
screened from notice by the deep embrasure of the window in which she
had placed her chair. From this she whispered, in a tone of voice
which, though soft and sweet, had something in it of admonition, if not
command: "Lucy, my dear, remember--have you heard what Bucklaw has been
saying?"
The idea of her mother's presence seemed to have slipped from the
unhappy girl's recollection.
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