returned by a kindling glance, also shot sidelong beneath dropped
lashes, said more to each other than would a quarto volume of
stereotyped protestations and caresses, such as Tom Barksdale dealt
out profusely to his beauteous Imogene. Clearly, neither Mr. nor
Mrs. Winston Aylett was fond of sugar-candy.

Mabel's faith in the sincerity of her sister-in-law's agreeable
sayings and ways was not invariable nor absolute. She liked her
after a certain fashion; got along swimmingly with her, the amazed
public decided "SO much better than could have been expected, and
than was customary with relations by marriage, and not by descent;"
yet her more upright nature and different training helped her to
detect the petty artifices with which Clara cajoled the unwary,
moulded the plastic at her will. But she had never questioned the
reality of her love for Winston. As a wife, her deportment was
exemplary, her devotion too freely and consistently rendered to have
its spring in policy or affectation. She gloried in her handsome,
courtly lord, and in his attachment for herself. Whether she would
have espied the same causes for loving exultation in him, had he
been a poor clergyman or merchant's clerk, was an irrelevant
consideration. The master of Ridgeley was not to be contemplated
apart from the possessions and dignities that were his inalienable
pedestal. Clara Dorrance was a clever woman, and she had given these
due weight in accepting his hand; and they may have had their
influence in moving her to unceasing, yet unobtrusive endeavor to
make herself still more necessary to his happiness, to strengthen
her hold upon him by every means an affectionate and beloved wife
has at her command. She had done well for herself--she was thinking
while he concluded as silently within himself that the slight
pensiveness tempering the expressive face was its loveliest dress.