Both were eminently dashing girls. Mabel, the elder, was perhaps the statelier of the two, but the beauty and manner of Rose were more sparkling and dazzling. Both sisters were highly accomplished, and both had that affected indifference to their own attractions, which is perhaps an indication of the strongest and most ineradicable vanity—for of those attractions they knew the full power and value.
"But who are those Devereaux?" asked Mabel, as a turn of the road hid the villa, during a pause filled up only by the subdued noise of the carriage wheels in their patent axle-boxes.
"You should know by this time, Trevelyan," added Rose, looking at him from under the long fringes of her eyes and her parasol, as she lay well back indolently yet gracefully among the soft cushions of the carriage.
"Nay; how should I, when you, who are neighbours, know nothing? Her father was a captain in some Line Regiment."
"Her father—of whom were we speaking?" asked Rose.
Trevelyan coloured perceptibly, and Mabel laughed.
"Oh, she occupies his thoughts already, Mab! He was of some Line Regiment, that is pretty vague, and scarcely suits our Cornish standard of such things as family and so forth—least of all the standard formed by your uncle, the late Lord Lamorna."
"Oh, he was an absurd old goose—mad with pride, in fact."
"And barely remembered you in his will?"
"Precisely so," replied Audley, half amused and half provoked.