Grace and Helen Huntington were bright and attractive girls, but neither of them possessed a tithe of the beauty which the gods has conferred upon their young guest. They were generous and kind enough, too, not to envy her for it, but rather made a pet of her, and were proud to entertain the fair American, who soon became an acknowledged belle.
The Huntingtons were in the habit of giving fortnightly receptions to some of the bon ton, of London, and it was at one of these gatherings that Virgie made her début in society.
She had never been much in company, having left school only the previous year, but now she entered into the enjoyment of everything with all the enthusiasm of her girlish nature.
She was very lovely on the evening of her first appearance at a reception at Lady Huntington’s.
She came into the great drawing-room leaning on the arm of Helen Huntington, a sparkling brunette, clad in garnet silk.
Virgie’s mother had taken great pains with her toilet, and it was absolutely perfect. It was of finest albatross cloth, combined with white satin, fitting her slender form like a glove, and draped in the most artistic manner, while the scarlet flowers, gleaming here and there among the graceful folds, made a very pleasing effect.
Her nut-brown hair was loosely coiled and fastened with a small silver comb, while a few light rings lay in careless array upon her pure forehead. Her dark eyes were gleaming with excitement and anticipation; her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her red lips wreathed with happy smiles.
“Who is that beautiful girl in white, with scarlet verbenas?” asked a distinguished-looking woman, who was conversing with Lady Huntington, as Virgie entered the room.
“She is a young American for whom a friend of my husband bespoke our hospitality and attention.”
“Ah!” replied the other, looking interested, and raising her glass for a better view of the stranger. “I might have known. We have few beauties of that delicate type in this country. What is her name?”