Celine Lorrain, the sister of Sacha, was a girl of twenty-five, with eyes of Mediterranean blue in a rather broad sweet face. The boys had monopolised all the beauty of the family, but she had a singularly pure expression, and with her gallant bearing would have made an ideal Joan of Arc. The countess, of a very different type, was, it transpired, the bosom friend of another and married Lorrain sister. She was little and piquant and plump, and made-up as for the stage. Pearl powder lay thick as white velvet on her nose, and her dark-green eyes were artistically outlined with spode-blue shadows. A little mole on her chin had been carefully blackened--and in her cheeks was a wild-rose flush out of a box. A few gilt streaks in the little dark plaits she wore coiled over her ears jeune fille fashion told that at some past period her hair had been magically changed to gold, but was now returning to its original colour. No doubt she was extremely picturesque, and her manners were charming. But Val, who always looked at eyes, noticed that hers, in spite of their enshrouding blue shadows, were as cold as some still mountain lake, though, at the same time, full of the swift brightness of the Parisienne who misses nothing there is to see. She included the two women, the girls, and the room in one rapid enveloping glance, much as a painter might take a snapshot of something he meant to examine more carefully later on, and thereafter took upon herself the "expense of the conversation," as the French phrase runs. Unfortunately, her English was not so excellent as she believed it to be--though a good deal more amusing. In answer to Val's polite "How do you do?" she responded affably:
"Vary much." And later she related, with a pretty little high laugh: "It is the costume in France for strange womens to visit first, but we have taken the beef by the horns and come to see you in case you have not the spirit of the adventuress."
Mrs. Kesteven, fearing that Kitty and Haidee might disgrace themselves if they listened to much of this style of thing, gradually wriggled the conversation back into French, at which they were all fairly fluent, except Val who, however, understood everything. With a general intention to be amiable, time hung on no one's hands. Every one took tea, and the young men made themselves useful, twisting with ease in the tiny room to hand cups and bread and butter.
"We must all be friends and go walks and swims together," said the Comtesse. "I hear your girls swim beautifully, Madame Valdana. I want them to teach me."
"And would you let them go sailing with us in our little sailing boat?" a voice beguiled in Val's ear, and she found the misty blue eyes which she had maliciously described as "drunken" looking at her.
"Oh, I don't know about that," she said in her faltering French.
"You spik in English and I spik in French and we will understand us," he said, smiling charmingly at her. He reminded her intensely of Bran, and for this reason she felt a great leaning to him. Besides, no one could have helped liking him. His fresh clear skin was made fresher by the blueness of his eyes and the blackness of his hair. Added to his boyish beauty was a sort of good honest look that warmed the heart.
"We are very all right sailors," he continued, still politely expressing himself in English. "My cousin and I have sailed our boat here every year since we had ten years of age. You need not have fear of accidents."
"My sister often goes with us," chimed in Sacha, "but she's getting lazy. Mademoiselle your daughter and Mees Kesteven both say they adore to go on the sea."
Val let them remain under the impression that Haidee was her daughter, feeling that it gave her more authority to shake her head at the idea of the girls going sailing. But the chorus of beguilements continued and the two girls kept saying: