Compton turned crimson, and raised his hat to her rather awkwardly.
Sir Charles, who did not know the lady from Eve, saluted her, nevertheless, and with infinite grace; for Sir Charles, in his youth, had lived with some of the elite of French society, and those gentlemen bow to the person whom their companion bows to. Sir Charles had imported this excellent trait of politeness, and always practiced it, though not the custom in England, the more the pity.
As soon as the young lady had passed and was out of hearing, Sir Charles said to Compton, “Who is that lovely girl? Why, how the boy is blushing!”
“Oh, papa!”
“Well, what is the matter?”
“Don't you see? It is herself come back from school.”
“I have no doubt it is herself, and not her sister, but who is herself?”
“Ruperta Bassett.”
“Richard Bassett's daughter! impossible. That young lady looks seventeen or eighteen years of age.”
“Yes, but it is Ruperta. There's nobody like her. Papa!”