The unknown uncle kissed him affectionately,
and said some civil things about the colour of his eyes, and the plumpness
of his limbs--"quite a Rubens baby," and so on, but did not consider a
boy-baby an especially wonderful creature, having had two boy-babies of his
own, and not having particularly wanted them. He looked upon them rather as
chronic perplexities, like accommodation bills that had matured unawares.
"And this is the heir of Arden," he said to himself, as he looked down at
the fat blue-eyed thing struggling in Clarissa's arms, with that desperate
desire to get nowhere in particular, common to infancy. "So this little
lump of humanity is the future lord of the home that should have been mine.
I don't know that I envy him. Country life and Arden would hardly have
suited me. I think I'd rather have an _entresol_ in the Champs Elysees,
and the run of the boulevards, than the gray old Court and a respectable
position. Unless a man's tastes are 'horsey' or agricultural, country life
must be a bore."
Mr. Austin patted the plump young cheeks without any feeling of enmity.
"Poor little beggar! What ghosts will haunt him in the old rooms by-and-by,
I wonder?" he said to himself, smiling down at the child.
* * * * *
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AUSTIN'S PROSPECTS.
The picture made rapid progress. For his very life--though the finishing of
his work had been the signal of his doom, and the executioner waiting to
make a sudden end of him when the last touch was laid upon the canvas,
Austin Lovel could not have painted slowly.
Pages:
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502