'
'My dear Mrs. Cadurcis,' said Lady Annabel, 'pray take luncheon after
your long drive; and Lord Cadurcis, I am sure you must be fatigued.'
'Thank you, I never eat, my dear lady,' said Mrs. Cadurcis, 'except at
my meals. But one glass of Mountain, if you please, I would just take
the liberty of tasting, for the weather is so dreadfully hot, and
Plantagenet has so aggravated me, I really do not feel myself.'
Lady Annabel sounded her silver hand-bell, and the butler brought some
cakes and the Mountain. Mrs. Cadurcis revived by virtue of her single
glass, and the providential co-operation of a subsequent one or two.
Even the cakes and the Mountain, however, would not tempt her son to
open his mouth; and this, in spite of her returning composure, drove
her to desperation. A conviction that the Mountain and the cakes were
delicious, an amiable desire that the palate of her spoiled child
should be gratified, some reasonable maternal anxiety that after so
long and fatiguing a drive he in fact needed some refreshment, and
the agonising consciousness that all her own physical pleasure at the
moment was destroyed by the mental sufferings she endured at having
quarrelled with her son, and that he was depriving himself of what was
so agreeable only to pique her, quite overwhelmed the ill-regulated
mind of this fond mother.
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