He essayed to estimate just
how much they would probably like Julia. Of course he would
say nothing about her mother and the book-shop; a vague
allusion to a widowed sister would be ample on that head.
But there could be confident references to Cheltenham;
he knew from what Julia had said that it suggested the
most satisfactory social guarantees, if taken strictly
by itself. And then so much would depend upon Julia
herself! If she succeeded in striking up a friendship
with them--ah, then everything would be all right.
Perhaps they would take a fancy to Alfred too! He was
a boy, of course, but conceivably the fact that he wanted
to paint, and knew about pictures, would appeal to them.
He seemed to have heard somewhere that artists were
the very devil among women.
At last the weary time of waiting had worn itself out,
somehow, and, after a final polishing before his glass,
he went down, and found his right corridor, and knocked
at the door. A pleasant voice bade him enter, and,
hat and gloves in hand, he went in.
As he had imagined, both ladies were present.
He had not been prepared, however, for the fact that it
was the American who played the part of hostess.
It was she who received him, and invited him to sit down,
and generally made him free of the apartment. When he
shook hands with Lady Cressage, there was somehow an effect
of the incidental in the ceremony, as if she were also a guest.
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