To my annoyance, I felt my cheeks grow red, but his kind, serious eyes
showed no knowledge of it. I wished they were not so far away, those
eyes, so absorbed with books and dead and gone people and dead
languages. I wished they were nearer home, took more obvious thought for
the pretty young wife whom I had sometimes imagined to be jealous of her
husband's absorption in his studies.
"I called, but I did not see Lady Ardaragh," I said.
"Ah, I suppose she had gone out. Well, good-bye, Miss Devereux. Remember
me kindly to Lord and Lady St. Leger."
A day or two later I heard my godmother mention to Lady St. Leger, when
I was not supposed to be listening, that some one had seen Anthony
Cardew. He had passed a night at Brosna, and he was off somewhere to the
South Seas--on some romantic, treasure-hunting expedition which he had
been asked to join.
"Will he never settle down?" my grandmother asked in a whisper. I
noticed that they always whispered when they mentioned the name of
Cardew, on account of my grandfather, no doubt, for he would always have
it that Irene Cardew had been the cause of the tragedy which had
resulted in Jasper Tuite's death and Uncle Luke's exile, and he hated
her and Brosna and all the Cardews on her account.
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