Popsie and Pet I recognised at once. They were in white frocks, and their fair locks intermingled, tossing to and fro. But about the little light figure clinging to Denham I did hesitate.
At the first moment, when my glance fell on a slender girl in cream cashmere, with deeper cream ribbons, and on a small though by no means childish face, brilliant with exercise, the jet eyes shining, the lips and cheeks carnation-hued, I had not a doubt that I was looking on a stranger—somebody come in to spend the evening with us. But the next moment I noted that her dress was an exact counterpart of Nona's, and as the two went past, there was a flash of recognition from those glancing eyes.
"Is that Elfie?" I exclaimed aloud; and the mother's description recurred to me again.
Nobody heard or answered. I went nearer the piano, and Nona, perceiving me, stopped suddenly. As a matter of course, the four little dancers stopped too.
"I say! What's that for?" demanded the boy.
"Nona, do go on! It's such fun," cried Popsie.
"I can't," Nona said, rising. "And Elfie looks warm now, so it doesn't matter. Besides, here comes father."
Mr. Romilly's entrance was the signal for a general move in his direction. Elfleda alone hung back, leaning against the piano. Already the sparkle was fading out of her eyes, and the extreme prettiness which had taken me by surprise was vanishing. A pinched careworn look came into her face, better suited to thirty than to sixteen. As I watched her, I saw suddenly a violent though suppressed start, and her little hand went with a hasty motion to her ear and cheek.
"Is anything the matter, Elfie?" I asked.
Maggie was just ushering in the Hepburns, with shyly-dropped eyes and still heightened colour. I was struck with her attractiveness, and I began to think I had perhaps too hastily concluded all a mother's swans to be—well, not geese exactly, but at most only ducks.