Leycester had plenty of courage—too much, some said. He walked straight up to the countess, and stood over her.
"Well, mother," he said, almost as if he were challenging her, "what do you think of her?"
The countess lifted her serene eyes and looked at him. She would not pretend to be ignorant of whom he meant.
"Of Miss Etheridge?" she said. "I have not thought about her. If I had, I should say that she was a very pleasant-looking girl."
"Pleasant-looking!" he echoed, and his eyebrows went up. "That is a mild way of describing her. She is more than pleasant."
"That is enough for a young girl in her position," said the countess.
"Or in any," said a musical voice behind him, and Lord Leycester, turning round, saw Lady Lenore.
"That was well said," he said, nodding.
"She is more than pleasant," said Lady Lenore, smiling at him as if he had won her warmest approbation by neglecting her all the evening. "She is very pretty, beautiful, indeed, and so—may I say the word, dear Lady Wyndward?—so fresh!"
The countess smiled with her even brows unclouded.