He looked,
if not a sad young man, then one conscious always of
sufficient reasons for sadness, but one came, after a time,
to see that the mood beneath was not melancholy. It had
even its sprightly side, which shone out irregularly in his
glance and talk, from a sober mean of amiable weariness.
Thorpe knew his extraordinary story--that of a poor tutor,
earning his living in ignorance of the fact that he had a
birthright of any sort, who had been miraculously translated
into the heir, not only to an ancient title but to vast
collateral wealth. He had been born and reared in France,
and it was there that the heralds of this stupendous change
in his affairs had found him out. There was a good deal
more to the story, including numerous unsavoury legends
about people now many years dead, and it was impossible
to observe the young Duke and not seem to perceive signs
that he was still nervously conscious of these legends.
The story of his wife--a serene, grey-eyed, rather
silent young person, with a pale face of some beauty,
and with much purity and intellect--was strange enough
to match. She also had earned her own living, as a private
secretary or type-writing girl, or something of the sort,
and her husband had deliberately chosen her after he had
come into his title. One might study her very closely,
however, and catch no hint that these facts in any degree
disconcerted her.
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