Such a stately beautiful hall it is—when the doors open—with a fine staircase going each way, and full of splendid pictures, and the whole atmosphere pervaded with an air of refinement and calm.
The footmen are tall, and not too young, and even at this time of the year have powdered hair.
Lady Merrenden was upstairs in the small drawing-room, and she rose to meet me, a book in her hand, when I was announced.
Her manners are so beautiful in her own home; gracious, and not the least patronizing.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said. “I hope you won’t be bored, but I have not asked any one to meet you—only my nephew, Torquilstone, is coming—he is a great sufferer, poor fellow, and numbers of faces worry him, at times.”
I said I was delighted to see her alone. No look more kind could be expressed in a human countenance than is expressed in hers. She has the same exceptional appearance of breeding that Lord Robert has, tiny ears, and wrists, and head—even dressed as a charwoman, Lady Merrenden would look like a great lady.
Very soon we were talking without the least restraint; she did not speak of people, or of very deep things, but it gave one the impression of an elevated mind, and a knowledge of books, and wide thoughts. Oh! I could love her so easily.
We had been talking for nearly a quarter of an hour—she had incidentally asked me where I was staying now, and had not seemed surprised or shocked when I said Claridge’s, and by myself.