"
In the great dining-room he found all his guests assembled, and he took
his seat amongst them calmly, though the sight of Honoria's empty place
cut him to the heart.
Never, perhaps, was a more miserable meal eaten than that breakfast.
There were long intervals of silence; and what little conversation
there was appeared forced and artificial.
Perhaps the most self-possessed person--the calmest to all appearance,
of the whole party--was Sir Oswald Eversleigh, so heroic an effort had
he made over himself, in order to face the world proudly. He had a few
words to say to every one; and was particularly courteous to the guests
near him. He opened his letters with an unshaking hand. But he
abstained from all allusion to his wife, or the events of the previous
evening.
He had finished breakfast, and was leaving the room, when his nephew
approached him--
"Can I speak to you for a few moments alone?" asked Reginald.
"Certainly. I am going to the library to write my letters. You can go
with me, if you like."
They went together to the library. As Sir Oswald closed the door, and
turned to face his nephew, he perceived that Reginald was deadly pale.
"What is amiss?" he asked.
"You ask me that, my dear uncle, at a time when you ought to know that
my sympathy for your sorrow--"
"Reserve your sympathy until it is needed," answered the baronet,
abruptly.
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