“She certainly ought to be the first to hear it,” replied Frank Amberley; “though, as her nearest friend, my dear aunt, you ought to learn the facts as soon as herself.”
“You have a sufficiently mysterious air, Frank. I feel eager to hear these wonderful tidings.”
Her ladyship felt a little piqued that her nephew did not offer at once to give her at least some hint of what the important matter of business might be about.
A sudden thought seemed to strike her, and she rang a tiny, silver hand-bell with some sharpness, while an expression of anxiety crossed her face. As she did so, a figure, so ethereal that it seemed like an emanation of fancy, floated unexpectedly from the entrance to the farthest room, and came down the length of the two salons beyond that in which the little group was stationed.
For a moment it seemed as if this fairylike vision had appeared in response to the musical tingling of the bell.
A girl of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in the familiar costume of Undine. A figure, tall, full of a royal dignity and repose, like that of a statue of Diana. A face surrounded by a radiant glory of sun-bright hair, recalling those pure saints and martyrs which glow serenely mild from the dim walls of old Italian or Spanish cathedrals. Many faults might be found with that face, yet it was one that gained in attraction at every glance.
The young girl advanced so rapidly down the rooms that she was standing within a few feet of the two gentlemen before she could plan a swift retreat.
A vivid, painful blush overspread her face, and she stood as if either transformed into some beautiful sculptured image, or absolutely unable to decide which would be the worst of evils—to remain or to fly.
She turned the full luster of her translucent eyes upon Captain Desfrayne, as some lovely wild creature of the forest might gaze dismayed at the sight of a hunter, and then recoiled.
Lady Quaintree rose, and quickly moved a few steps, as if to intercept her, and said: