Barnaby, pretend otherwise though he might, did sometimes read a person for their true feelings: and often, he could sense that his presence was being merely tolerated. (This was the peril of being dead in a living world – they liked to stick to their own kind, and morbid curiosity only went so far to bridge it.)
But not Miss – Mrs. – Lestrange, whose very curtsey was a spectacularly theatrical affair, and made him feel as if they were old friends, and he had indeed come to call on purpose. She had wobbled, even. That made him grin.
“Ah! A fine piece,” Barnaby said, floating over to examine the ring more closely. He might have taken her by the hand to better inspect it, if he only could have – as it was, he just hung in the air a foot or two from her, and admired it obligingly. “Then you are married, and newly so?” Barnaby concluded, in genuine interest. He remembered his own marriage only vaguely, but it was a circumstance that happened to most people, happily or no. “And how is marriage treating you thus far? Is it much to your liking?”
But not Miss – Mrs. – Lestrange, whose very curtsey was a spectacularly theatrical affair, and made him feel as if they were old friends, and he had indeed come to call on purpose. She had wobbled, even. That made him grin.
“Ah! A fine piece,” Barnaby said, floating over to examine the ring more closely. He might have taken her by the hand to better inspect it, if he only could have – as it was, he just hung in the air a foot or two from her, and admired it obligingly. “Then you are married, and newly so?” Barnaby concluded, in genuine interest. He remembered his own marriage only vaguely, but it was a circumstance that happened to most people, happily or no. “And how is marriage treating you thus far? Is it much to your liking?”
