But it was easy for Geoffrey
who was watching her to see that it was not her sister's views she was
attacking; it was her sister. It was that soft strong loveliness and the
glory of that face; it was the deep gentle mind, erring from its very
greatness, and the bright intellect which lit it like a lamp; it was the
learning and the power that, give them play, would set a world aflame,
as easily as they did the heart of the slow-witted hermit squire, whom
Elizabeth coveted--these were the things that Elizabeth hated, and
bitterly assailed.
Accustomed to observe, Geoffrey saw this instantly, and then glanced
at the father. The old man was frightened; clearly he was afraid of
Elizabeth, and dreaded a scene. He stood fidgeting his feet about, and
trying to find something to say, as he glanced apprehensively at his
elder daughter, through his thin hanging hair.
Lastly, Geoffrey looked at Beatrice, who was indeed well worth looking
at. Her face was quite pale and the clear grey eyes shone out beneath
their dark lashes. She had risen, drawing herself to her full height,
which her exquisite proportions seemed to increase, and was looking at
her sister.
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