Farebrother sat down by her. Fred used to be much more easy
about his own accomplishments in the days when he had not begun
to dread being "bowled out by Farebrother," and this terror was
still before him. Mrs. Vincy, in her fullest matronly bloom,
looked at Mary's little figure, rough wavy hair, and visage quite
without lilies and roses, and wondered; trying unsuccessfully
to fancy herself caring about Mary's appearance in wedding clothes,
or feeling complacency in grandchildren who would "feature" the Garths.
However, the party was a merry one, and Mary was particularly bright;
being glad, for Fred's sake, that his friends were getting
kinder to her, and being also quite willing that they should
see how much she was valued by others whom they must admit to be judges.
Mr. Farebrother noticed that Lydgate seemed bored, and that Mr. Vincy
spoke as little as possible to his son-in-law. Rosamond was perfectly
graceful and calm, and only a subtle observation such as the Vicar
had not been roused to bestow on her would have perceived the total
absence of that interest in her husband's presence which a loving
wife is sure to betray, even if etiquette keeps her aloof from him.
When Lydgate was taking part in the conversation, she never looked
towards him any more than if she had been a sculptured Psyche modelled
to look another way: and when, after being called out for an hour
or two, he re-entered the room, she seemed unconscious of the fact,
which eighteen months before would have had the effect of a numeral
before ciphers.
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