"Miss Chandos. She is Madame's adopted daughter, and lives with old de Godez—goes everywhere, and has a good time."
"What do you call a good time?" questioned Captain Haig as his eyes followed the de Godez group.
"She has everything money can purchase, each wish forestalled, boundless admiration, forty-guinea frocks, and as many proposals of marriage as there are days in the week."
"Oh, I say, come!" expostulated his nephew.
"Well, I know for a fact that she refused Dormer Lisle and Tubby Coote, and, they say, Lord Caraway. Observe that young officer in the Frankfort Dragoons rushing on his fate, and the dark, foreign-looking chap leading the dog is Prince Tossati, an Italian prince, long pedigree, lean purse!"
Captain Haig stared intently at the group, which had halted to greet some friends within a few yards of his seat—at the stout old woman, who had no chin or neck to speak of, but a shrewd, piercing eye—a bargaining eye—and a far-reaching, authoritative voice. She was dressed with great magnificence, in a crimson and black foulard, and in her ears blazed two large diamonds. There was something tragic in the intensity of the effort and the insufficiency of the result; for all her pains Madame de Godez was merely an ugly old woman who waddled like a duck. During her progress she talked incessantly in a high falsetto—chiefly to a man who strolled beside her—listening with an air of reverent attention, his head bent, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. It would be difficult to imagine a more complete contrast than that presented by Madame de Godez and her niece. Miss Chandos was a tall and graceful demoiselle, who moved with deliberate, indolent gait; her flowing white gown was studiously plain; she wore no ornaments, and few would have cast a second glance at her large black hat. It was a certain air of personal distinction which arrested attention, for if her toilet was simple, her carriage was regal. Her head was firmly set upon a long white throat, and the face beneath the shady hat was unquestionably beautiful. The girl's complexion indicated the morn and dew of youth; her features were cut with the precision of a cameo; her eyes and hair were dark, and both were glorious.
The young lady's manner was considerably more animated than her movements. She talked and laughed gaily and uninterruptedly, with a slim, sallow cavalier (obviously her bondslave) who conducted Madame's morose-looking pet by a long leather strap.
This animal was an elderly terrier, who did not appreciate these early promenades where he was restrained from speaking to his own species—and was secretly dosed with nasty waters. He loathed the foreign food, foreign manners, foreign tongue—he never met an English pal, or enjoyed a day's good English sport. Oh, where were the rabbits, the cats, the friends and the enemies of his youth? He was an ill-used, expatriated animal, as surly and injured as any other old gentleman compelled to reside on the Continent against his inclination. Madame de Godez invariably addressed the poor creature as "Dog Darling," for she was passionately attached to him, despite his churlish humours; but he remained his own dog, and nobody's darling, as he was half-dragged, half-led, in the train of a triumphal progress.
Captain Haig's eyes dwelt long on this particular group, and his uncle, noting the fact, made a sudden and startling remark.
"Malcolm, my boy, that girl would be the very wife for you!" and when he had enunciated this opinion, he coughed, and gave his neat washing tie an emphatic twitch.