Not that Miss
Cunyngham ever exhibited any disdain for those pursuits of her gifted
sisters-in-law; no; she listened to Lady Sybil's music, and regarded
Lady Rosamund's canvases, and even read the last MS. chapter of Lady
Adela's new novel (for that great work was now in progress) with a grave
good-humor and even with a kind of benevolence; and it was only when one
or the other of them, with unconscious simplicity, named herself in
conjunction with some master of the art she was professing--wondering
how _he_ could do such and such a thing in such and such a fashion when
_she_ found another method infinitely preferable--it was only at such
moments that occasionally Honnor Cunyngham's clear hazel eyes would meet
Lionel's, and the question they obviously asked was "Is not that
extraordinary?" They did not ask "Is not that absurd?" or "How can any
one be so innocently and inordinately vain?" they only expressed a
friendly surprise, with perhaps the smallest trace of demure amusement.
On the other hand, if Miss Cunyngham rather intimated to this young
guest and stranger that, being at a shooting-lodge in the Highlands, he
ought to devote himself to the healthful and vigorous recreations of the
place, instead of dawdling away his time in drawing-room frivolities, it
was not that she herself should take possession of him as her comrade on
her salmon-fishing excursions.
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