Experience of life, and a certain measure of
happiness, had made the raw girl a very pleasing and energetic
woman; her face was comely, her manner refined, she spoke softly and
thoughtfully, but with spirit.
"It is wonderful," she said, after gazing long, with knitted brows,
at the Judas, "but horrible. I wish it hadn't taken hold of you so."
"Taken hold of me? I care very little about it."
"Oh, nonsense! That's your worst fault, Eustace. You seem ashamed of
being in earnest. I wish you had found a pleasanter subject, but I
am delighted to see you _do_ something. Is it quite finished?"
A servant appeared at the door.
"Mr. Quarrier wishes to see you, sir."
Denzil entered, and had a friendly greeting. The Glazzards did not
see much of him, for he was over head and ears in politics, social
questions, philanthropic undertakings--these last in memory of
Lilian, whose spirit had wrought strongly in him since her death. He
looked a much riper and graver man than a year ago. His language was
moderate; he bore himself reservedly, at moments with diffidence.
But there was the old frank cordiality undiminished. To Serena he
spoke with the gentle courtesy which marks a man's behaviour to
women when love and grief dwell together in his heart.
"Our friend Judas?" he said, stepping up to the model. "Finished at
last?"
"Something like it.
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