She was not sentimental in her love, nor in her grief. Sighs and
tears with her were not a sentimental commodity,--an offering which the
boarding-school miss makes alike at the altar of her love, or at the
shrine of a dead parent's memory. The desolation of heart and home was
not a trial which wealth and honors could adorn with tinsel, and thus
render it desirable, or even tolerable!
Emily Dumont entered the library. The occasion was repugnant to her
feelings. The unceremonious blending of dollars and cents with the
revered name of her father was extremely painful to her sensibility. It
seemed like a profanation of his memory.
Her uncle, Maxwell, the witnesses of the will, and several
others,--intimate friends of the family,--were already there. On
Jaspar's countenance were no tell-tale traces of the last night's
villany. He looked gloomy and sorrowful. So thoroughly had he schooled
himself in hypocrisy for this occasion, that the scene he knew would, in
a few minutes, transpire, had no prophetic indications in his features.
Like the tragedian who is tranquil and unaffected in the scene in which
he knows his own death or triumph occurs, Jaspar was calm, and his
aspect even sanctimonious.
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