For Bannister was nobody in a social way, as viewed from the
lofty top of the hill at Sommerton Place; indeed, all of his kinspeople
were mountaineers, honest, it is true, but decidedly woodsy, who tilled
stony acres in a pocket beyond the first blue ridge yonder. His education
seemed good, but it had been snatched from the books by force, with the
savage certainty of grip which belongs to genius.
Colonel Sommerton, having unbounded confidence in Phyllis's aristocratic
breeding, would not open his eyes to the attitude of the young people until
suddenly it came into his head that possibly the almost briefless plebeian
lawyer had ulterior designs while climbing the hill, as he was doing
noticeably often, from town to Sommerton Place. But when this thought
arrived the Colonel was prompt to act. He called up the subject at once,
and we have seen the close of his interview with Phyllis.
Now he stood on the veranda and puffed his cigar with quick, short
draughts, as a man does who falters between two horns of a dilemma. He
turned his head to one side as if listening to his own thoughts, his tall,
pointed collar meantime fitting snugly in a crease of his furrowed jaw.
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