There were quite a number of gentlemen round Lady Caroline, all being regrettably silly. A murmur from Miss Devenish reached Lady Worth's ears: "Oh! she's so lovely! I like just to look at her!"
Judith hoped that she was not uncharitable, but had no wish to exchange more than a smile and a bow with Lady Caroline. One was not a prude, but really that lilac gauze was perfectly transparent! And if it came to loveliness, Judith considered her protegee quite as well worth looking at as any lady in the room. If her eyelashes were not as long and curling as Lady Frances Webster's the eyes themselves were decidedly more brilliant, and of such a dove-like softness! Her shape, though she might conceal it with discretion, was quite as good as Caro Lamb's; and her glossy brown curls were certainly thicker than Caroline's short feathery ringlets. Above all, her expression was charming, her smile so spontaneous, the look of grave reflection in her eye so particularly becoming! She dressed, moreover, with great propriety of taste, expensively but never extravagantly. Any man might congratulate himself on acquiring such a bride.
These reflections were interrupted by the necessity of exchanging civilities with the Marquise d'Assche. Judith turned from her presently to find Miss Devenish waiting to engage her attention.
"Dear Lady Worth," said Miss Devenish, "you know everyone, I believe. Only tell me who is that beautiful creature come into the room with Lady Vidal. Is it very wrong? - I could not but gasp and think to myself: 'Oh, if I had but that hair!' Everyone is cast into the shade!"
"Good gracious, whom in the world can you have seen?" said Judith, smiling with a little amusement. However, when her eyes followed the direction of Miss Devenish's worshipful gaze, the smile quickly faded. "Good God!" she said. "I had no idea that she was back in Brussels! Well, Lucy, if you are looking at the lady with the head of hair like my best copper coalscuttle, let me tell you that she is none other than Barbara Childe."
"Lady Barbara!" breathed Miss Devenish. "I wondered -You must know that I never till now set eyes on her. Yes, one can see the likeness: she is a little like her brother, Lord Vidal, is she not?"
"More like Lord George, I should say. You do not know him: a wild young man, I am afraid; very like his sister."
Miss Devenish made no reply to this observation, her attention remaining fixed upon the two ladies who had come into the salon.
The elder, Lady Vidal, was a handsome brunette, whose air, dress, and deportment all proclaimed the lady of fashion. She was accompanied by her husband, the Marquis of Vidal, a fleshy man, with a shock of reddish hair, a permanent crease between thick, sandy brows, and a rather pouting mouth.
Beside Lady Vidal, and with her hand lightly resting on the arm of an officer in Dutch-Belgian uniform, stood the object of Miss Devenish's eager scrutiny.