“But, my dear child, do get it out of your head that everyone at Altes is an invalid. It is quite a mistake. At least half the people here simply come for amusement. Mr. Chepstow, as it happens, is here to recruit his spirits, for his wife died a few months ago, and he found his home so miserable without her that he couldn’t bear to spend the winter there. He’s an enormously rich man, Mrs. Fraser said.”
“Did you notice the gentleman who came in when dinner was half over?” asked Marion.
“Not particularly. I don’t think Mrs. Fraser knew him—at least she made no observations about him.”
“You should have him, though,” said Marion.
“I; why?” exclaimed Cissy. “But now I think of it, by-the-by, his face did strike me as familiar in a sort of misty way. I know,” she went on, eagerly; “Yes, I know now. It was Sir Ralph Severn.”
“So I supposed,” said Marion; “for it was certainly the gentleman who lent me the umbrella this morning.”
“How stupid of me not to recognize him,” said Cissy; “but I might just as well say how stupid of him not to recognize me! He is a good deal changed, naturally, for it is seven years since I saw him at Cairo, and then only for a few hours. He is more manly-looking, but even graver than he was then. But what a handsome young man that Russian was! Didn’t you think so, Marion?”
“Yes, I liked his face exceedingly,” she replied. “Ah! that explains his speaking so many languages—his being a Russian, I mean. What is his name?”
“Count Vladimir Nodouroff, or some name like that,” answered Mrs. Archer; “his family comes here every winter. He has a beautiful sister. That stupid-looking man was his tutor. The little Friendship’s name is Monsieur de l’Orme. Mrs. Fraser knows him a little, and says he is charming. They are all setting off on a mountain excursion tonight.”
“Yes, I heard them alluding to it,” said Marion; “so after all, Cissy, your Sir Ralph can’t be such a very unsociable person.”