With the same composed aspect and manner he had exhibited the preceding day, Sir George again made his appearance at Holme Court, on the day following. Again he addressed Ella with marked courtesy, but there were no compliments paid on this occasion to her brilliant bloom, the truth being, that her complexion, when not animated by air and recent exercise, had never regained its natural hue since her illness, but was, generally speaking, as pale as monumental marble. Still the Baronet thought her very handsome, and moreover, he knew her to be very rich.

Throughout the repast he supported his share in the conversation with propriety and good / sense, though neither with originality nor spirit.

‘He is,’ said Mr. Fitzmaurice, when he was gone, ‘a good average specimen of a creditable talker. For one who soars above him, you will meet with twenty on the same level, or even a little below him. If I could help it, I would as rarely associate with such persons as I would compel myself to read a merely rational, matter-of-fact book. They teach us nothing, are too good to be laughed at, and too insipid to be laughed with.’

There was but one thing in his guest that struck Mr. Fitzmaurice as being singular – the extraordinary solicitude he showed when the ladies left them after dinner, to learn all the particulars of the death of the unfortunate Frederic Ormond. It did not appear that he had ever seen much of him; nor did he profess to have entertained any peculiar regard for him; yet he was indefatigable in his enquiries, and often assumed, whilst listening to the answers he received, a look so portentous, that his companion knew not how to interpret it.