Mr. Parmalee, lounging among the trees, caught one glimpse of that exquisite face as it flashed by.
"By George! ain't she a stunner? Not a bit like t'other one, with her black eyes and tarry hair. I've seen quadroon girls, down South, whiter than Miss Silver. And, what's more, she isn't a bit like—like the lady in London, that she'd ought to look like."
Sybilla saw very little of Sir Everard or his bride that evening. But the next morning, at breakfast, she broached the subject of Mr. Parmalee.
"Wants to take photographic views of the place, does he?" said Sir
Everard, carelessly. "Is he too timid to speak for himself, Sybilla?"
"Mr. Parmalee is not in the least bashful. He merely labors under the delusion that a petition proffered by me can not fail."
"Oh, the fellow is welcome!" the baronet said, indifferently. "Let him amuse himself, by all means. If the views are good, I will have some myself."
Mr. Parmalee presented himself in the course of the day.
Sir Everard received him politely in the library.
"Most assuredly, Mr.—oh, Parmalee. Take the views, of course. I am glad you admire Kingsland. You have been making some sketches already, Miss Silver tells me."
Miss Silver herself had ushered the gentleman in, and now stood lingeringly by the door-way. My lady sat watching the ceaseless rain with indolent eyes, holding a novel in her lap, and looking very serene and handsome.