Whether he was reading in the library--where there was
an admirable collection of books of worth--or walking
over the home-farms, or driving in his smart stanhope
with the coachman behind, or sitting in formal costume and
dignity opposite his beautiful wife at the dinner-table,
the sense of what was expected of him was there,
steadying and restraining, like an atmospheric pressure.
Thus far they had had few visitors, and had accepted
no invitations to join house-parties elsewhere.
They agreed without speaking about it that it was
more their form to entertain than to be entertained,
and certain people were coming to them later in the month.
These were quite wholly of Edith's set and selection,
for Thorpe had no friends or acquaintances outside her
circle for whose presence he had any desire--and among
these prospective guests were a Duke and a Duchess.
Once, such a fact would have excited Thorpe's imagination.
He regarded it now as something appropriate under
the circumstances, and gave it little further thought.
His placid, satisfied life was not dependent upon the stir
of guests coming and going, even though they were the
great of the earth. He walked on his spacious terrace
after luncheon--a tall, portly, well-groomed figure
of a man, of relaxed, easy aspect, with his big cigar,
and his panama hat, and his loose clothes of choice fabrics
and exquisite tailoring--and said to himself that it was
the finest view in England--and then, to his own surprise,
caught himself in the act of yawning.
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