Here the person under discussion came hastily into the room, in the crispest of lilac and white muslins, with a black sash and bows, and a rose at her waist, looking as fresh as if the heaviest atmosphere could not touch her.
"Oh, you have arrived, Katherine! I wish you would come and see Colonel Ormonde. He wants so much to speak to you!"
"But I do not want to speak to him. I don't want to see any one."
"Do come, Katie! I assure you you have made quite an impression; come and deepen it," cried Mrs. Frederic, with a persuasive smile, while she thought, "She is looking awfully bad and pale, and Katherine without color is nowhere; her eyes are red too.—Come, like a dear," she persisted, aloud, "unless you want to go up and beautify."
"No, I certainly do not," said Katherine, rising impatiently. "I will go with you for a minute or two, but I am too tired to talk."
"Your hair is in utter disorder," remarked her mother.
"It is no matter," returned Katherine, following her sister-in-law out of the room.
Her dress was by no means becoming. It was of thin black material, the remains of her last year's mourning; the white frill at her throat was crushed by the friction of her jacket, and some splashes on the skirt gave her a travel-stained aspect. But no disorder could hide the fine warm bronze brown of her abundant hair, nor disguise the shape of her brows and eyes, though the eyes themselves lost something of their color from the paleness of her cheeks; nor did her weariness detract from the charm of her delicate upturned chin.
"Here is my naughty sister-in-law, who has been wandering about all the morning alone, and making us quite uneasy."
"What! In search of further adventures—eh?" asked Colonel Ormonde, rising and making an elaborate bow. He spoke in a tone half paternal, half gallant, in right of which elderly gentlemen sometimes take liberties.