that, happen what might, his present perfect felicity must be
disturbed, and devoid of any sentiment for Cheveleigh that could make
the restoration compensate for the obligation so unpleasantly
enforced; and Isabel's fastidious taste made her willing to hold
aloof as far as might be without vexing the old lady.

There was no amalgamation. Fitzjocelyn and Isabel were near the
window, talking over her former home and her sisters, and all the
particulars of the society which she had left, and he had entered;
highly interesting to themselves and to the listening Clara, but to
the uninitiated sounding rather like 'taste, Shakspeare, and the
musical glasses.'

Oliver and his mother, sitting close together, were living in an old
world; asking and answering many a melancholy question on friends,
dead or lost sight of, and yet these last they always made sure that
they should find when they went home to Cheveleigh--that home to
which the son reverted with unbroken allegiance; while the whole was
interspersed with accounts of his plans, and explanations of his vast
designs for the renovation of the old place.

James hovered on the outskirts of both parties, too little at ease to
attach himself to either; fretted by his wife's interest in a world
to which he was a stranger, impatient of his uncle's plans, and
trebly angered by observing the shrewd curious glances which the old
man cast from time to time towards the pair by the window.
Fortunately, Mrs. Frost was still too absolutely wrapt in maternal
transport to mark the clouds that were gathering over her peace. To
look at her son, wait on him, and hear his voice, so fully satisfied
her, that as yet it made little difference what that voice said, and