Her slight figure might not
be beautiful, but beyond doubt its lines were ladylike.
The same extenuating word applied itself in his mind
to her thin and swarthy, though distinguished, features.
They bore the stamp of caste, and so did the way she looked
at one through her eye-glasses, from under those over-heavy
black eyebrows, holding her head a little to one side.
Though it was easy enough to guess that she had a spirit
of her own, her gentle, almost anxious, deference to her
mother had shown that she had it under admirable control.
He had read about her in a peerage at his sister's
book-shop the previous day. Unfortunately it did not
give her age, but that was not so important, after all.
She was styled Honourable. She was the daughter of one
Viscount and the sister of another. Her grandfather
had been an Earl, and the book had shown her to possess
a bewildering number of relationships among titled folks.
All this was very interesting to him--and somewhat suggestive.
Vague, shapeless hints at projects rose in his brain as he
looked at her.
"I'm afraid you think my brother has odd notions
of entertaining his guests," she remarked to him,
over her shoulder. The other ladies had not joined them.
"Oh, I'm all right," he protested cordially. "I should
hate to have him put himself out in the slightest.
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