Peters Mother | Page 9

Timothy's half-sisters, who were seated
beside the great log fire, and who regarded him with approving eyes.
For their stranger cousin had that extreme gentleness and courtesy of
manner and regard, which sometimes accompanies unusual strength,
whether of character or of person.

It was a pity, old Lady Belstone whispered to her spinster sister, that
John was not a Crewys, for he had a remarkably fine head, and had he
been but a little taller and slimmer, would have been a credit to the
family.
Certainly John was not a Crewys. He possessed neither grey eyes, nor a
large nose, nor the height which should be attained by every man and
woman bearing that name, according to the family record.
But though only of middle size, and rather square-shouldered, he was,
nevertheless, a distinguished-looking man, with a finely shaped head
and well-cut features. Clean shaven, as a great lawyer ought to be, with
a firm and rather satirical mouth, a broad brow, and bright hazel eyes
set well apart and twinkling with humour. No doubt John's appearance
had been a factor in his successful career.
The sisters, themselves well advanced in the seventies, spoke of him
and thought of him as a young man; a boy who had succeeded in life in
spite of small means, and an extravagant mother, to whom he had been
obliged to sacrifice his patrimony. But though he carried his forty-five
years lightly, John Crewys had left his boyhood very far behind him.
His crisp dark hair was frosted on the temples; he stooped a little after
the fashion of the desk-worker; he wore pince-nez; his manner, though
alert, was composed and dignified. The restlessness, the nervous energy
of youth, had been replaced by the calm confidence of middle age--of
tested strength, of ripe experience.
On his side, John Crewys felt very kindly towards the venerable ladies,
who represented to him all the womankind of his own race.
Both sisters possessed the family characteristics which he lacked. They
were tall and surprisingly upright, considering the weight of years
which pressed upon their thin shoulders. They retained the
manners--almost the speech--of the eighteenth century, to which the
grandmother who was responsible for their upbringing had belonged;
and, with the exception of a very short experience of matrimony in
Lady Belstone's case, they had always resided exclusively at
Barracombe.

Lady Belstone, besides her widowed dignity, had the advantage of her
sister in appearance, mainly because she permitted art, in some degree,
to repair the ravages of time. A stiff toupet of white curls crowned the
withered brow, below a widow's cap; and, when she smiled, which was
not very often, a double row of pearls was not unpleasantly displayed.
Miss Crewys had never succumbed to the temptations of worldly vanity.
She scrupulously parted her scanty grey locks above her polished
forehead, and cared not how wide the parting grew. If she wore a velvet
bow upon her scalp, it was, as she truly said, for decency, and not for
ornament; and further, she allowed her wholesome, ruddy cheeks to fall
in, as her ever-lengthening teeth fell out. The frequent explanations
which ensued, regarding the seniority of the widow, were a source of
constant satisfaction to Miss Crewys, and vexation to her sister.
"You might be a hundred years old, Georgina," she would angrily
lament.
"I very soon shall be a hundred years old, Isabella, if I live as long as
my grandmother did," Miss Crewys would triumphantly reply. "It is
surprising to me that a woman who was never good-looking at the best
of times, should cling to her youth as you do."
"It is more surprising to me that you should let yourself go to rack and
ruin, and never stretch out a hand to help yourself."
"I am what God made me," said the pious Georgina, "whereas you do
everything but paint your face, Isabella; and I have little doubt but what
you will come to that by the time you are eighty."
But though they disputed hotly on occasion the sisters generally
preserved a united front before the world, and only argued, since argue
they must, in the most polite and affectionate terms.
The firelight shed its cheerful glow over the laden tea-table, and was
reflected in the silver urn, and the crimson and gold and blue of the
Crown Derby tea-set. But the old ladies, though casting longing eyes in
the direction of the teapot, religiously abstained from offering to touch
it.

"No, John," said Miss Crewys, in a tone of exemplary patience; "I have
made it a rule never to take upon myself any of the duties of hospitality
in my dear brother's house, ever since he married,--odd as it may seem,
when we remember how he used once to sit at this very table