“Australia—I have never been there,” he said, musingly. “And do you like England—what you have seen of it, Miss Chetwynde?”
“For some things, yes; for others, no,” said Esmeralda. “But that is, perhaps, because I’m strange, and things are so different.”
“So different?” he echoed, invitingly. Something of the charm of her freshness attracted him, as it attracted all who came in contact with her. He looked at her more attentively, and began to realize how beautiful she was, and how girlish and unsophisticated. He did not read the society papers, and had heard nothing, knew nothing about her, beyond the knowledge which Lord Selvaine’s introductory words conveyed.
“Yes,” said Esmeralda. “People talk and behave differently to what I’ve been used to, and it is strange, at first; but I dare say I shall get used to it. Don’t you want to dance?” she broke off. “Everybody must want to dance who can; don’t let me keep you standing here.”
He did not smile at her candor as another man might have done.
“I don’t dance very often,” he said. “And I am glad to stand here, if you will allow me. Like you, I enjoy being a spectator.”
“Oh, but I don’t enjoy it,” said Esmeralda. “I’d dance if I could. I’m going to learn. I’ve got a lot to learn.”
He looked at her thoughtfully, gravely, but said nothing. It was said that Lord Trafford had, like Hawthorne, “flashes of eloquent silence.” This was one of them. A waltz was just over, and several couples passed them into the conservatory, into which there were two or three entrances. The buzz of chatter and laughter surrounded them; now and again some one could be heard distinctly. A voice, coming from a cluster of palms, just then reached them. It was a woman’s voice, and she was saying:
“Have you seen her, my dear? She is one of the most beautiful girls I ever saw. She is perfectly lovely! With the most wonderful hair and eyes.”