Sophy looked rather annoyed:
“Next time you intend to change your opinion of any one in such a hurry, I wish you would give me notice, Frank,” she said; and then turning to Mrs. Archer, she began a rattling conversation on every subject under the sun, making fun of all the people it Altes, one after another.
Marion felt disappointed. Something in the girl had attracted her, but this sort of talk wearied and repelled her. She much preferred hearing from Captain Berwick a more detailed account of his mountain expedition, which he, pleased at the interest this pretty girl took in his recital, was nothing loth to give her. He several times alluded to the young Russian, Nodouroff.
Marion asked who he was.
“Oh, they’re rather grand people, I believe,” said young Berwick; “the father is an official, of course, something about the court. The mother and daughter come here almost every winter. The daughter, Countess Olga, is the most beautiful girl here. At least, in my opinion. Some people admire Miss Vyse, Lady Severn’s niece, more. Have you seen her?”
“Yes,” said Marion “I think her very beautiful.”
“So she is undoubtedly; but the Countess Olga’s expression is much more to my taste. I am sure you would think so too. There is something melancholy about her face. I don’t know if she is really so, for I have never spoken to her.”
“But beautiful people always look more or less melancholy, don’t you think?” asked Marion.
“No, not all. Miss Vyse doesn’t look melancholy, though she tries it, now and then,” said Captain Berwick; “but her face is too hard for that sort of thing, I hate a hard expression. Even a goose like Dora Bailey is more to my taste than a beauty like Miss Vyse.”
“Who is the English gentleman with Count Vladimir?”