‘A gentleman of Western extraction: a distant branch of the great Pakenhams. So at least the family records say; but they have been long naturalized in the Kast.’
‘I never heard of them,’ replied the lady. ‘Pakenham! That is not an Angrian name?’
‘Perhaps, madam, you are not particularly acquainted with this part of the country?’
‘I know Hawkscliffe,’ said the lady, ‘and your house is on the very borders, within the Royal Liberties; is it not?’
‘Yes, madam. It stood there before the great duke bought up the forest manor, and His Majesty allowed my master to retain this lodge and the privilege of sporting in the chase.’
‘Well, and you are Mr. Pakenham’s housekeeper?’
‘Yes, madam.’
The lady surveyed Miss Laury with another furtive side-glance of her large majestic eyes. Those eyes lingered upon the diamond earrings, the bandeau of brilliants that flashed from between the clusters of raven curls; then passed over the sweet face, the exquisite figure of the young housekeeper, and finally were reverted to the wall with an expression that spoke volumes. Miss Laury could have torn the dazzling pendants from her ears. She was bitterly stung.
In her turn she gazed on her guest. The lady was but a young creature, though so high and commanding in her demeanour. She had very small and feminine features, handsome eyes, a neck of delicate curve, and fair, long, and graceful little snowy aristocratic hands, and sandalled feet to match. It would have been difficult to tell her rank by her dress. None of those dazzling witnesses appeared which had betrayed Miss Laury. Any gentleman’s wife might have worn the gown of dark-blue silk, the tinted gloves of Parisian kid, and the fairy sandals of black satin in which she was attired.
‘May I have a room to myself?’ she asked, again turning her eyes with something of a smile toward Miss Laury.