The uncle had moments of profound skepticism
about this--moments when he uneasily wondered whether it
was not going to be his duty to speak to the young man.
For the most part, however, he extracted reassurance
from Miss Madden's demeanour toward the lad. She knew,
it seemed, a vast deal about pictures; at least she was able
to talk a vast deal about them, and she did it in such
a calmly dogmatic fashion, laying down the law always,
that she put Alfred in the position of listening as a pupil
might listen to a master. The humility with which his
nephew accepted this position annoyed Thorpe upon occasion,
but he reasoned that it was a fault on the right side.
Very likely it would help to keep the fact of the lady's
seniority more clearly before the youngster's mind,
and that would be so much gained.
And these apprehensions, after all, were scarcely to be
counted in the balance against the sense of achieved
happiness with which these halcyon days kept Thorpe filled.
The initiatory dinner had gone off perfectly. He could
have wished, indeed, that Julia had a smarter frock,
and more rings, when he saw the imposing costumes and jewelled
throats and hands of his guests--but she was a young girl,
by comparison, he reflected, and there could be no doubt
that they found her charming. As for Alfred, he was notably
fine-looking in his evening-clothes--infinitely more like
the son of a nobleman, the gratified uncle kept saying
to himself, than that big dullard, the Honourable Balder.
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