And if Trix did look
now and again at Mrs. Wentworth and Jack Ives, I cannot say that
her conduct was unnatural. To tell the truth, Jack was so
obviously delighted with his new friend that it was quite
pleasant--and, as I say, under the circumstances, rather
amusing--to watch them. We felt that the squire was justified in
having a hit at Jack when Jack said, in the smoking room, that he
found himself rather at a loss for a subject for his next sermon.
"What do you say," suggested my cousin, puffing at his pipe, "to
taking constancy as your text?"
Jack considered the idea for a moment, but then he shook his
head.
"No. I think," he said reflectively, "that I shall preach on the
power of sympathy."
That sermon afforded me--I must confess it, at the risk of
seeming frivolous--very great entertainment. Again I secured a
place by Miss Trix--on her left, Newhaven being on her right, and
her face was worth study when Jack Ives gave us a most eloquent
description of the wonderful gift in question. It was, he said,
the essence and the crown of true womanliness, and it showed
itself--well, to put it quite plainly, it showed itself,
according to Jack Ives, in exactly that sort of manner and
bearing which so honorably and gracefully distinguished Mrs.
Wentworth. The lady was not, of course, named, but she was
clearly indicated. "Your gift, your precious gift," cried the
curate, apostrophizing the impersonation of sympathy, "is given
to you, not for your profit, but for mine.
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