There are various opinions on the merits, more or less conflicting with Volumnia's. That fair young creature cannot believe there ever was any such lady and rejects the whole history on the threshold. The majority incline to the debilitated cousin's sentiment, which is in few words--"no business--Rouncewell's fernal townsman." Sir Leicester generally refers back in his mind to Wat Tyler and arranges a sequence of events on a plan of his own.
There is not much conversation in all, for late hours have been kept at Chesney Wold since the necessary expenses elsewhere began, and this is the first night in many on which the family have been alone. It is past ten when Sir Leicester begs Mr. Tulkinghorn to ring for candles. Then the stream of moonlight has swelled into a lake, and then Lady Dedlock for the first time moves, and rises, and comes forward to a table for a glass of water. Winking cousins, bat-like in the candle glare, crowd round to give it; Volumnia (always ready for something better if procurable) takes another, a very mild sip of which contents her; Lady Dedlock, graceful, self-possessed, looked after by admiring eyes, passes away slowly down the long perspective by the side of that nymph, not at all improving her as a question of contrast.
Volumnia cannot believe there ever was any such lady and rejects the whole history. Sir Leicester thinks of Wat Tyler and the Peasants' Revolt.
There is not much conversation in all, for it is late. Sir Leicester begs Mr. Tulkinghorn to ring for candles. The stream of moonlight has swelled into a lake, and then Lady Dedlock for the first time moves, and rises, coming forward to a table for a glass of water. Cousins, bat-like in the candle glare, crowd round to give it; Lady Dedlock, graceful, self-possessed, looked at by admiring eyes, passes slowly out of the long room.