“Oh,” ejaculated Miss Brandon, and relapsed into silence.
Mrs. Wyndham rose and stood before the fire, and pushed a log back with her small foot. Miss Brandon watched her, half wondering whether the flames would not catch her dress.
“I have been to see that Miss Thorn,” said Sybil presently.
“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs. Sam, with sudden interest, “tell me all about her this minute, dear. Is not she the most extraordinary creature?”
“I rather like her,” answered Miss Brandon. “She is very pretty.”
“What style? Dark?”
“No; not exactly. Brown hair, and lots of eyebrows. She is a little thing, but very much alive, you know.”
“Awfully English, of course,” suggested Mrs. Sam.
“Well–yes, I suppose so. She is wild about horses, and says she shoots. But I like her–I am sure I shall like her very much. She does not seem very pleased with her aunt.”
“I do not wonder,” said Mrs. Sam. “Poor little thing–she has nobody else belonging to her, has she?”