Two voices, basso and falsetto, were calling through the fog. Two horses were backing and sidling at the steps. Then a tall young woman came laughing and stamping through the open doorway.
The magnetism of her bounding vitality touched Florence Essington before she looked; for her first look was to Longacre. He was suddenly brightened, more interested in what he was saying to Cissy Fitz Hugh; and Florence, seeing, had a sensation of loneliness, of desertion, that amounted to antagonism as she turned her eyes to the girl. The feeling ached through her pure pleasure in the other’s extraordinary beauty.
Julia was hatless. Her hair, crystalled with mist, stood off her forehead in a glistening bush. That dark, back-brushed nimbus gave the suggestion of some great, fine lady of another day. The magnificent sweep of her black brows seemed to dress her forehead. The blood of her vigorous body burned in her crimson cheeks and lips. She moved in an atmosphere of vital energy. She dominated the room.
Her mother seemed scarcely able to keep her hands off her.
“Why, darling, what is the matter? Why are you so late?”
“Awfully sorry, mama. We couldn’t help it. Mr. Thair couldn’t see the face of his watch.—How d’ y’ do, Mrs. Fitz Hugh.—Besides, the ocean was too splendid!”
“But where is your hat, pet?” Mrs. Budd still hovered, tender and voluble.
“Blew off,” said Julia, blithely. “Mr. Thair tried to find it, and nearly lost himself in the fog. Bless you, mother, we couldn’t see our saddle-pommels!”
“Here’s Mr. Longacre,” murmured her mother, remindingly.
The girl gave him a full hand-clasp. Her spirits seemed to take another leap.