But, just before the entrance of the bishop, three persons came in to whom all eyes turned at once, and there was almost a murmur of admiration even in the hush of the sacred building at sight of the girl who, at the foot of the middle aisle, stopped for her mother and brother to take off the long white mantle which was wrapped round her, and then followed the Reverend John Mainwaring up the aisle to the seat he had kept for her in the pew with his own daughter and the governess, Annie Lane.
Lilian Braithwaite came of a handsome race. Tall, with a well-molded figure, gray eyes, brown hair, and complexion rich enough in its tints to promise something more lovely still when a season or two in town should have toned down its coloring, she gave promise of beauty distinguished enough to hold its own amongst the fairest women she might meet. The plain white cashmere which looked so simple on Betty Mainwaring had quite a different effect upon her handsome figure, and the tulle headdress, half cap, half veil, which she wore in common with the other candidates of her own class, had as much of the veil and as little of the cap about it as possible. Already, at seventeen, she walked through the crowd of admiring faces with a bearing which showed more of the dignity of an acknowledged beauty than of the modesty of a young girl. She smiled at the young governess good-humoredly enough, however, and would even have entered into a whispered conversation, with scornfully critical remarks upon the rest of the candidates, if Miss Lane had not received her overtures shyly and with all the primness of her profession. Miss Braithwaite, who was not easily repulsed, gave a little amused shrug of the shoulders, and said, in a loud whisper:
“Are you afraid the vicar is looking at you?”
And then she met his rather uneasy glance in her own direction with a bland smile.
It had been rather a difficult matter for him to bring himself to believe that Miss Braithwaite was in all respects fit for confirmation; but, as no scruple had ever entered her own head, and as, moreover, she was technically prepared for the rite, being able to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and the Catechism with perfect fluency, he had no choice but to bring her to the bishop with the rest of the candidates.
When the service was over, and she rejoined her mother and brother, a young man with a rather handsome face, but deformed and resting on crutches, came up to her and stood silently by while her brother wrapped her again in the long, white mantle she had come in.
“You here, Stephen! How did you come? The doctor said you were not to go out until your cough was better,” said Miss Braithwaite, in a voice scarcely as low as it ought to have been.
“I wanted to see you—all in white like a bride, making all the other girls look ugly and clumsy,” whispered the cripple, with his face flushing; “so I got Thompson to get the pony-carriage ready, and followed you as fast as I could.”
Stephen Lawler’s contempt for the appearance of the rest of the candidates was not shared by his cousin, Harry Braithwaite, who turned to watch one of the girls admiringly, and whispered:
“I say, Lilian, how awfully fetching little ‘Miss Prim’ looks in that get-up!” “Little Miss Prim” was Annie Lane, the governess.