A tall handsome woman of some eight-and-thirty years old, with bold black eyes and soft creamy complexion, very dark chestnut hair, and full scarlet lips. A majestic-looking woman, with a splendid figure, whose walk, without any absurd exaggeration, was stately, and whose every pose was perfect. She was dressed in a morning-gown of thick linen, fringed with handsome work, and set off with a blue sash; her bonnet was very plain, of white straw, with white and blue feathers in it. A physiognomist looking at her would have told you that she could experience passion but not love, and that she was an unhappy woman, proud, scornful, and conscious of being misunderstood.
She put out her hand indeed, but advanced towards Spiridion with uplifted eyebrows and with something of a pained expression in her face.
'Why this formality, Tito?' she asked.
'I was not aware that I was guilty of any,' said Mr. Pratt, on whose cheeks the colour still remained.
'You know my Christian name; why do you not call me by it?'
'Not before the servants, my dear Margaret,' said Spiridion, bending over her hand. 'Gaetano's ears are remarkably sharp, and he is peculiarly appreciative in such matters.'
'In such matters,' repeated Mrs. Hamblin scornfully. 'Well, you are doubtless right. What an age since I have seen you!'
'To my sorrow,' said Spiridion. 'The world believes me to be an idle man, but you know how really busy I am.'
'I have observed of late that you have had a great deal to do,' said Mrs. Hamblin, in the same tone. 'We were disappointed in not seeing you at dinner last night.'
'You are very good to say so. It seems almost ludicrous to have had an engagement at this time of year, when there is really nothing going on, but some friends of mine had been kind enough to ask me for last night, and I had pledged myself to them days before.'