The Heir of Redclyffe
Leonora. Yet often with respect he speaks of thee.
Tasso. Thou meanest with forbearance, prudent, subtle,
'Tis that annoys me, for he knows to use
Language so smooth and so conditional,
That seeming praise from him is actual blame.
When the Hollywell party met at breakfast, Charles showed himself by no means the
worse for his yesterday's experiment. He said he had gone to sleep in reasonable time,
lulled by some poetry, he knew not what, of which Guy's voice had made very pretty
music, and he was now full of talk about the amusement he had enjoyed yesterday, which
seemed likely to afford food for conversation for many a week to come. After all the care
Guy had taken of him, Mrs. Edmonstone could not find it in her heart to scold, and her
husband, having spent his vexation upon her, had none left to bestow on the real culprit.
So when Guy, with his bright morning face, and his hair hanging shining and wet round
it, opened the dining-room door, on his return from bathing in the river, Mr.
Edmonstone's salutation only conveyed that humorous anger that no one cares for.
'Good morning to you, Sir Guy Morville! I wonder what you have to say for yourself.'
'Nothing,' said Guy, smiling; then, as he took his place by Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I hope you
are not tired after your hard day's work?'
'Not at all, thank you.'
'Amy, can you tell me the name of this flower?'
'Oh! have you really found the arrow-head? How beautiful! Where did you get it? I didn't
know it grew in our river.'
'There is plenty of it in that reedy place beyond the turn. I thought it looked like
something out of the common way.'
'Yes! What a purple eye it has! I must draw it. 0, thank you.'
'And, Charlotte, Bustle has found you a moorhen's nest.'
'How delightful! Is it where I can go and see the dear little things?'
'It is rather a swamp; but I have been putting down stepping-stones for you, and I dare
say I can jump you across. It was that which made me so late, for which I ought to have
asked pardon,' said he to Mrs. Edmonstone, with his look of courtesy.
Never did man look less like an offended lover, or like a morose self- tormentor.