I know that
without the least reason in the world I felt a kind of guiltiness, as
if I had been "caught." There was a silvery star pattern sprinkled on
her black silk dress, and even from the ground I could see the immense
coils of her hair and the rings on her left hand which was held
fingering the small jet buttons of her bodice. She watched our united
advance without stirring, until, imperceptibly, her eyes raised and
lost themselves in the distance, so that it was out of an assumed
reverie that she appeared suddenly to awaken to our presence beneath
her when we drew close to the house.
"So this is your friend, Mr. Smithers, I suppose?" she said, bobbing to
me.
"Withers, aunt," said Seaton.
"It's much the same," she said, with eyes fixed on me. "Come in, Mr.
Withers, and bring him along with you."
She continued to gaze at me--at least, I think she did so. I know that
the fixity of her scrutiny and her ironical "Mr." made me feel
peculiarly uncomfortable. But she was extremely kind and attentive to
me, though perhaps her kindness and attention showed up more vividly
against her complete neglect of Seaton.
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