“How do you do, my dear?” she inquired, and she looked at the fresh loveliness of the young face with a growing surprise and astonished admiration.
She had expected to see—well, what Mr. Pinchook had expected to see—a rough, uncouth, gauche girl, eloquent of the backwoods and savagery. But this slim, graceful girl, with her red-gold hair and star-like eyes smashed Lady Wyndover’s fancy picture into smithereens. She stood and gazed at her, and Esmeralda gazed back with a grave and steady regard which disconcerted even Lady Wyndover.
“You didn’t tell me—” she exclaimed to Mr. Pinchook, thrown off her guard for the moment. Then she recovered herself. “My dear girl,” she murmured, “I can not tell you how glad I am to see you! You are so like your poor mother!” She touched her eye—or seemed to do so—with a lace handkerchief. “You must be quite tired out! That awful journey!”
“I’m not tired at all,” said Esmeralda, her voice, though by no means loud, ringing like a bell after Lady Wyndover’s thin tones.
Lady Wyndover looked at her with a persuasive smile.
“Oh, but you must be, my dear, though you don’t know it. Go into that room and take your things off. And by the time you come back we’ll have some tea.”
When the door closed upon Esmeralda, Lady Wyndover turned upon Mr. Pinchook.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was so—so beautiful?” she exclaimed, with her flashing hands outstretched.
“I’m under the impression that I informed your ladyship that Miss Chetwynde was good-looking.”
“Good-looking!” exclaimed Lady Wyndover, with a little laugh. “Why, my dear Mr. Pinchook, she is simply superb! I am surprised and delighted.” She laughed languidly. “Why, you must be quite sorry to lose so charming a traveling companion?”