“I like you, whoever you are,” she thought. And as at that moment Hebe came up with outstretched hand and cordial “How do you do? You found your way the other day, I hope?” an irrepressible little burst of enthusiasm made its way through her caution.
“Is she not charming? She is always so perfectly sweet and happy,” she said.
“Yes indeed,” her neighbour replied, and the bright responsive smile on her face made one forget everything except the eyes. “She is—perfectly charming. I like to see that she gives the same impression to strangers as to those who have known her long. I can remember her nearly all my life, and yet every time I see her there seems something new. She is—I daresay you know?—she is going to be married to my brother Norman. Won’t it be delightful to have her for a sister?”
And again the beautiful eyes gleamed with something brighter than their ordinary expression of appeal.
Stasy gasped. Who, then, was this girl? For an instant, a wild, ridiculous idea rushed through her mind that Lady Hebe must be going to marry one of the Wandles or Bracys, so prepossessed was she with her first guess about her plain-featured neighbour. But she dismissed it at once, and she began to feel shocked at her own want of discernment.
The colour mounted into her face as she replied to her companions question.
“I didn’t know; at least,” hesitatingly, “I am not sure. I think I did hear something, but I can’t remember. I— Please don’t think me rude, but I don’t know your name.”
“I am Rosy Milward. We live at Crossburn, the dearest old, old house in the world,” said the girl.
“Oh!” said Stasy. “Yes, I have heard your name. It will be delightful to have Lady Hebe for your sister.”
But her tone was slightly melancholy. She had been cherishing, half unconsciously perhaps, dreams of special friendship, romantic friendship, between Lady Hebe and herself (though she called it “us,” reluctant to leave out Blanche from anything so charming). And now her dreams seemed shattered. She—Hebe—was going to be married, and here was a sister-friend all ready made for her. It was much better never to expect to see or know any more of the future wife of Mr Norman Milward.