Joseline, having arranged her belongings in her own way, dressed early, and descended to the yellow drawing-room, in order to have a good half-hour with the magazines, and the promised talk with her father, before the crowd came.
Absorbed in a story, she did not hear the door open.
Captain Deverell entered; he had just arrived by train. At first he supposed the room was empty, but, seeing a white skirt billowing round the sides of an arm-chair near the fire, he called out, “Hullo, Tito! Is that you? Has the wild Irish girl arrived?”
The figure sat up, rose slowly to her feet, and confronted him. No, it was not Tito, but a far better-looking young lady, wearing a white gown and a turquoise necklace, who replied, “Yes, she has come—in fact, here she is!” dropping a curtsey. “But she’s not very, very wild at present.”
He surveyed her gravely. “I beg your pardon. So you must be Lady Joseline?”
She nodded.
“And I have the honour to present your cousin, once removed, Dudley Deverell”; and he made a profound, half-ironical inclination.
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard all about you from Tito”; and she sat down and took up her book with an air of calm detachment.
“I’ve seen you before somewhere, I think,” he announced, after a puzzled silence.