“One is so careless in entering rooms hurriedly,” I observed.
“Oh, but it is stupid to stand just by the door!” insisted the lady.
Conscious that she was scanning my appearance, I could but return the compliment. She was very tall, almost as tall as I was myself; you would choose to call her stately, rather than slender. She was very fair, with large lazy blue eyes and a lazy smile to match. In all respects she was the greatest contrast to the Duchess of Saint-Maclou.
“You were about to pass out?” said I, holding the door.
She bowed; but at the moment another lady—elderly, rather stout, and, to speak it plainly, of homely and unattractive aspect—whom I had not hitherto perceived, called from a table at the other end of the room where she was sitting:
“We ought to start early to-morrow.”
The younger lady turned her head slowly toward the speaker.
“My dear mother,” said she, “I never start early. Besides, this town is interesting—the landlord says so.”
“But he wishes us to arrive for déjeuner.”
“We will take it here. Perhaps we will drive over in the afternoon—perhaps the next day.”