“We must all be victims in our turn, Carry,” said the Countess. “Evan’s prospects—it may be, Silva’s restoration—depend upon your hair being dressed plain to-day. Reflect on that!”
Poor Caroline obeyed; but she was capable of reflecting only that her face was unnaturally lean and strange to her.
The sisters tended and arranged one another, taking care to push their mourning a month or two ahead and the Countess animadverted on the vulgar mind of Lady Jocelyn, who would allow a “gentleman to sit down at a gentlewoman’s table, in full company, in pronounced undress: and Caroline, utterly miserable, would pretend that she wore a mask and kept grimacing as they do who are not accustomed to paint on the cheeks, till the Countess checked her by telling her she should ask her for that before the Duke.
After a visit to Evan, the sisters sailed together into the drawing-room.
“Uniformity is sometimes a gain,” murmured the Countess, as they were parting in the middle of the room. She saw that their fine figures, and profiles, and resemblance in contrast, produced an effect. The Duke wore one of those calmly intent looks by which men show they are aware of change in the heavens they study, and are too devout worshippers to presume to disapprove. Mr. George was standing by Miss Carrington, and he also watched Mrs. Strike. To bewilder him yet more the Countess persisted in fixing her eyes upon his heterodox apparel, and Mr. George became conscious and uneasy. Miss Carrington had to address her question to him twice before he heard. Melville Jocelyn, Sir John Loring, Sir Franks, and Hamilton surrounded the Countess, and told her what they had decided on with regard to the election during the day; for Melville was warm in his assertion that they would not talk to the Countess five minutes without getting a hint worth having.
“Call to us that man who is habited like a groom,” said the Countess, indicating Mr. George. “I presume he is in his right place up here?”
“Whew—take care, Countess—our best man. He’s good for a dozen,” said Hamilton.
Mr. George was brought over and introduced to the Countess de Saldar.
“So the oldest Tory in the county is a fox?” she said, in allusion to the hunt. Never did Caroline Strike admire her sister’s fearful genius more than at that moment.
Mr. George ducked and rolled his hand over his chin, with “ah-um!” and the like, ended by a dry laugh.