On the whole, she thought, they ought not to frighten Sibylla much. There was one terrible example—the Courtlands; but when it comes to throwing things about, the case is admittedly abnormal. For the rest they seemed, to the student of matrimony, fair average samples of a bulk of fair average merit. Perhaps there might have been an ideal union—just to counter-balance the Courtlands at the other extreme. If such were desirable, let it be hoped that the Imasons themselves would supply it. In regard to one point, she decided, the company was really above the average—and that the most important point. There had been rumours once about Christine Fanshaw—indeed they were still heard sometimes; but scandal had never assailed any other woman there. In these days that was something, thought Mrs. Raymore.
Grantley turned from Christine Fanshaw to his hostess.
"You're very silent. What are you thinking about?" he asked.
"Sibylla's really beautiful, and in a rather unusual way. You might pass her over once; but if you did look once, you'd be sure to look always."
"Another woman's looks have kept your attention all this time?"
"Your wife's," she reminded him with an affectionately friendly glance. "And I was wondering what she thought of us all, what we all look like in those pondering thoughtful questioning eyes of hers."
"Her eyes do ask questions, don't they?" laughed Grantley.
"Many, many, and must have answers, I should think. And don't they expect good answers?"
"Oh, she's not really at all alarming!"
"You can make the eyes say something different, I daresay?"