"Glad enough to show my respect to a
neighbor," said old Naylor. "And I always liked the old man's looks. But
really I don't see why I should go to lunch. However, Beaumaroy--"
Mary did not see why he should go to lunch--nor, for that matter, why
she should either, but curiosity about the chief mourners made her
glad that she was going. The chief mourners did not look, at first
sight, attractive. Mr. Radbolt was a short plump man, with a weaselly
face and cunning eyes; his wife's eyes, of a greeny color, stared
stolidly out from her broad red face; she was taller than her mate, and
her figure contrived to be at once stout and angular. All through the
service, Beaumaroy's gaze was set on the pair as they sat or stood in
front of him, wandering from the one to the other in an apparently
fascinated study.
At the Cottage he entertained his party in the parlor with a generous
hospitality, and treated the Radbolts with most courteous deference. The
man responded with the best manners that he had--who can do more? The
woman was much less cordial; she was curt, and treated Beaumaroy rather
as the servant than the friend of her dead cousin; there was a clear
suggestion of suspicion in her bearing towards him.
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