He was wondering if the girl would recognize him on sight as the stranger with whom she had had the angry encounter in the lane a few days before.
As she neared the great doorway the whistling suddenly ceased, and almost simultaneously the girl appeared in sight, and it was no wonder that the elegant stranger forgot himself so much as to actually stare—for the vision that suddenly appeared before his sight haunted him to the end of his life.
Instead of the hoydenish creature he expected to see, he beheld a tall young girl, in a pink and white flowered dress, which became her dark beauty as no Parisian robe could have done; the jetty curls were tied back by a simple pink ribbon, and a knot of pink held the white lace bertha on her white breast.
She advanced with the haughty step of a young empress and took her seat opposite Mr. Dinsmore.
He never afterward clearly remembered in what words the presentation was made.
He was clearly taken aback, and he showed it plainly.
Not one feature of the girl’s proud, beautiful face moved, but there was a subtle gleam in the bright, dark eyes which made the handsome stranger feel uncomfortable. He knew that she had recognized him at the first glance, and was secretly laughing at that memory—a fact which he resented.
She took but one glance at him, but in that one, instantaneous glance she had read not only the face, but the heart and soul, of the man sitting opposite her, and her first impression of dislike of him was strengthened.
He was quick to see that this little Southern beauty did not go in raptures over him, as almost every other girl whom he had ever met had seemed to do; in fact, he felt that she disliked him, and he was sure that it was on account of the episode with the horse.
“I will change all that,” he promised himself confidently. He would not notice that the girl acknowledged the introduction curtly, if not brusquely; a fact which quite horrified good Mrs. Bryson, who remembered full well her words: