But
Beauchamp had now made progress enough to secure his revenge of
mortification; and for that, with the power which he had acquired over
Kate's sensitive nature, he drew her into the sphere of his flaunted
triumph, and made her wound Alec to the root of his vulnerable being.
Had Alec then seen his own face, he would have seen upon it the sneer
that he hated so upon that of Beauchamp. For all wickedness tends to
destroy individuality, and declining natures assimilate as they sink.
Other visitors arrived, and Alec found a strange delight in behaving as
if he knew of no hidden wound, and his mind were in a state of absolute
_neglig???_. But how would he meet the cold wind blowing over the
desolate links?
Some music, and a good deal of provincial talk--not always less human
and elevating than the metropolitan--followed. Beauchamp moderated his
attentions to Kate; but Alec saw that it was in compliance with his
desire that, though reluctant, she went a second time to the piano. The
song she had just sung was insignificant enough; but the second was one
of the ballads of her old Thulian nurse, and had the merit of an
antique northern foundation at least, although it had evidently passed
through the hands of a lowland poet before it had, in its present form,
found its way northwards again to the Shetland Isles.
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