you waiting, for I went first to your own room"
"It was here," interrupted Lord Norbourne that I wished to see you."
He paused, and his nephew stood by with his arms folded, in silence, as if resolved not to begin the conversation. There was much resemblance between the two: both had the same cast of features. It is curious to remark how a family sets its mark on its descendants: assuredly there is a subtle sympathy in the ties of blood, still one of the mysteries of our nature. But if their old line gave the resemblance, time had marked the difference. The meaning on Norbourne's fine features came direct from the feeling; his eyes were thoughtful, but they had that deep and inward look which belongs only to the dreaming meditations of youth. He wore a saddened and subdued air; it was obvious that he had not yet learned sorrow's bitterest task—that of concealment.
Lord Norbourne's countenance needed closer analysis to detect its hidden meaning.
