was, in the features of Mrs. Templeton, an expression of deep but calm
melancholy, that would have saddened most persons to look upon,
especially in one so young and lovely. It was evidently something
beyond shyness or reserve that made her so silent and subdued, and even
in her silence there was so much natural sweetness, that Ferrers could
not ascribe her manner to haughtiness or the desire to repel. He was
rather puzzled; "for though," thought he, sensibly enough, "my uncle is
not a youth, he is a very rich fellow; and how any widow, who is married
again to a rich old fellow, can be melancholy, passes my understanding!"

Templeton, as if to draw attention from his wife's taciturnity, talked
more than usual. He entered largely into politics, and regretted that
in times so critical he was not in parliament.

"Did I possess your youth and your health, Lumley, I would not neglect
my country--Popery is abroad."

"I myself should like very much to be in parliament," said Lumley,
boldly.

"I dare say you would," returned the uncle, drily. "Parliament is very
expensive--only fit for those who have a large stake in the country.
Champagne to Mr. Ferrers."

Lumley bit his lip, and spoke little during the rest of the dinner. Mr.
Templeton, however, waxed gracious by the time the dessert was on the
table; and began cutting up a pineapple, with many assurances to Lumley
that gardens were nothing without pineries. "Whenever you settle in the
country, nephew, be sure you have a pinery."