Then Miss Huntley would take offence, and
threaten Ellen with "altering her will," and that would vex Ellen more
than anything. Young ladies rarely care for money, especially when they
have plenty of it; and Ellen Huntley would have that, from her father.
"As if I cared for my aunt's money!" she would say. "I wish she may not
leave it to me." And she was sincere in the wish. Their controversies
frequently amused Mr. Huntley. Agreeing in heart and mind with his
daughter, he would yet make a playful show of taking his sister's part.
Miss Huntley knew it to be show--done to laugh at her--and would grow
as angry with him as she was with Ellen.
Mr. Huntley was not laughing, however, this morning. On the contrary,
he appeared to be in a very serious, not to say solemn mood. He slowly
paced the room, as was his custom when anything disturbed him, stopping
at moments to reflect, buried in thought. Ellen sat at a table by the
window, drawing. The house was Mr. Huntley's own--a white villa with a
sloping lawn in front. It was situated outside the town, on a gentle
eminence, and commanded a view of the charming scenery for which the
county was famous.
Ellen, who had glanced up two or three times, concerned to see the very
stern, perplexed look on her father's face, at length spoke, "Is
anything the matter, papa?"
Mr. Huntley did not answer. He was standing close to the table then,
apparently looking at Ellen, at her white morning dress and its blue
ribbons: it, and she altogether, a fair picture.
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