'
'My aunt lent us his new poem to-day,' said Venetia, boldly.
'Have you read it?' asked the Bishop.
'I am no admirer of modern poetry,' said Lady Annabel, somewhat
tartly.
'Poetry of any kind is not much in my way,' said the Bishop, 'but if
you like to read his poems, I will lend them to you, for he gave me a
copy; esteemed a great honour, I assure you.'
'Thank you, my lord,' said Lady Annabel, 'both Venetia and myself
are much engaged now; and I do not wish her to read while she is in
London. When we return to Cherbury she will have abundance of time, if
desirable.'
Both Venetia and her worthy host felt that the present subject of
conversation was not agreeable to Lady Annabel, and it was changed.
They fell upon more gracious topics, and in spite of this somewhat
sullen commencement the meeting was quite as delightful as they
anticipated. Lady Annabel particularly exerted herself to please, and,
as was invariably the case under such circumstances with this lady,
she was eminently successful; she apparently endeavoured, by her
remarkable kindness to her daughter, to atone for any unpleasant
feeling which her previous manner might for an instant have
occasioned. Venetia watched her beautiful and affectionate parent,
as Lady Annabel now dwelt with delight upon the remembrance of their
happy home, and now recurred to the anxiety she naturally felt about
her daughter's approaching presentation, with feelings of love and
admiration, which made her accuse herself for the recent rebellion of
her heart.
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