Lady Ombersley, her two elder sons, and Miss Wraxton were seated in a group about the fire. All looked round at the opening of the door, and the two gentlemen rose to their feet, Hubert gazing at his cousin in frank admiration, Charles looking her over critically.
“Come in, dear Sophy!” Lady Ombersley said, in a welcoming tone. “You see that I am wearing the beautiful mantilla instead of a shawl! Such exquisite lace! Miss Wraxton has been much admiring it. You will let me introduce Miss Stanton-Lacy to you, my dear Eugenia. Cecilia will have told you, Sophy, that we are soon to have the joy of counting Miss Wraxton one of the family.”
“Yes, indeed!” said Sophy, smiling, and holding out her hand. “I wish you very happy, Miss Wraxton, and my cousin also.” She turned, having briefly clasped Miss Wraxton’s hand, and extended her own to Charles. “How do you do?”
He shook hands, and discovered that he was being looked at in a manner quite as critical as his own. This surprised him, but it amused him too, and he smiled. “How do you do? I shall not say that I remember you very well, Cousin, for I am sure that neither of us has the least recollection of the other!”
She laughed. “Very true! Not even Aunt Elizabeth could remember me! Cousin — Hubert, is it? — tell me, if you please, about Salamanca, and John Potton! Did you see both safely bestowed?”
She moved a little aside, to talk to Hubert. Lady Ombersley, who had been anxiously watching her son, was relieved to see that he was looking perfectly amiable, even rather appreciative. A half smile lingered on his lips, and he continued to observe Sophy until his attention was recalled by his betrothed.
The Honorable Eugenia Wraxton was a slender young woman, rather above the average height, who was accustomed to hearing herself described as a tall, elegant girl. Her features were aristocratic, and she was generally held to be a good-looking girl, if a trifle colorless. She was dressed with propriety but great modesty in a gown of dove-colored crape, whose sober hue seemed to indicate her mourning condition. Her hair, which she wore in neat bands, was of a soft tint between brown and gold; she had long, narrow hands and feet; and rather a thin chest, which, however, was rarely seen, her mama having the greatest objection to such low-cut bodices as (for instance) Miss Stanton-Lacy was wearing. She was the daughter of an Earl, and, although she was always careful not to appear proud, perfectly aware of her worth. Her manners were gracious, and she took pains to put people at their ease. She had had every intention of being particularly gracious to Sophy, but when she rose to shake hands with her she had found herself looking up into Sophy’s face, which made it very difficult to be gracious. She felt just a little ruffled for a moment, but overcame this, and said to Charles in a low voice, and with her calm smile: “How very tall Miss Stanton-Lacy is! I am quite dwarfed.”
“Yes, too tall,” he replied.
She could not help being glad that he apparently did not admire his cousin, for although she perceived, on closer scrutiny, that Sophy was not as handsome as herself, her first impression had been of a very striking young woman. She now saw that she had been misled by the size and brilliance of Sophy’s eyes; her other features were less remarkable. She said, “Perhaps, a trifle, but she is very graceful.”
Sophy at this moment went to sit down beside her aunt, and Charles caught sight of the fairylike little greyhound, which had been clinging close to her skirts, not liking so many strangers. His brows rose; he said, “We seem to have two guests. What is her name, cousin?”