The window stood open on the June evening, a most exquisite perfume lingered round the chamber, a perfume of roses, violets, and indefinable things of the night; an almost imperceptible breeze caused the candle flames to tremble against their shining silver sconces and filled the room with a sense of life and movement.
In each of the glasses on the table a gem of light quivered, and the little gold labels hung round the necks of the dark wine bottles gave forth long shuddering rays. The white china was painted in pink, the hue of the half-opened moss roses; in the centre of the table two harts in ivory, each wearing a collar of turquoise, bore between their antlers a crystal dish filled with pale lilies.
Miss Chressham slipped to her seat, her brown hair and eyes, her rich complexion and bright dress made her catch the light in rivalry even of the sparkling crystal and silver. As she moved something fell from her dress. "My letter to Selina!" she laughed, picking it up, "and I have never addressed it—that was Marius."
"Selina Boyle?" questioned the Countess, listening for her son's step.
"Yes, my dearest friend, you know, though I so seldom see her; she is in Bristol with her family now," smiled Miss Chressham.
Lady Lyndwood turned her sweet face to the door.
"Of course, I remember her, my dear; she was here two seasons back—how long Marius is!"
"She sends her greeting to you," said Susannah, "and asks after Rose; she has heard so much of him, even in Bristol. I meant to tell you before."
She glanced at the Countess with a feeling almost of guilt, and two lines from Selina Boyle's letter—"tell me, I pray you, of your cousin the Earl, who I hear has all the graces and all the vices—the saddest rake in London!"—seemed to weigh on her as if her own.
But Lady Lyndwood smiled absently.