Meanwhile, Thaddeus was agitated with a variety of emotions. Every
tone of Pembroke's voice, reminding him of happier days, pierced his
heart, whilst a sense of his ingratitude awakened all the pride and
indignation of his soul. Full of resentment, he determined that,
whatever might be the result, he would not shrink from an interview,
the anticipation of which Pembroke (who had received from himself an
intimation of the name he had assumed) seemed to regard with so much
contemptuous indifference.
Not imagining that Somerset and the count had any personal knowledge
of each other, Lady Tinemouth begged the gentlemen to accompany her
into the supper-parlor, Pembroke, with inconsiderate, real
indifference, passed by Thaddeus to give his hand to the countess.
Thaddeus was so shocked at this instance of something very like a
personal affront, that, insulted in every nerve, he was obliged to
pause a moment in the hall, to summon coolness to follow him with a
composed step and dispassionate countenance. He accomplished this
conquest over himself, and taking off his hat, entered the room. Lady
Tinemouth began to congratulate herself with many kind expressions on
his arrival. The eyes of Pembroke fixed themselves on the calm but
severe aspect of the man before him; he stood by the table with such
an air of noble greatness, that the candid heart of Pembroke Somerset
soon whispered to himself, "Sure nothing ill can dwell in such a
breast!"
Still his eyes followed him, when he turned round, and when he bent
his head to answer the countess, but in a voice so low that it
escaped his ear.
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