“They are my sisters,” Frances replied, with dignity, though not without a gleam of amusement in her eyes.
“I beg your pardon,” was the instantaneous rejoinder. “They are not like you; but very pretty—” she was going on, when a second glance somewhat modified this impression. One was pretty, the taller and fairer of the two, though in neither respect did she equal her eldest sister, but then she was evidently “very young” and would probably improve. But the other, the little slight dark one, was scarcely pretty, not noticeable in any way. And Frances, quick to perceive the hesitation, realised with disappointment that her Betty was by no means at her best. Of her, Mrs Littlewood could not have thought to herself, “How well she lights up!” Frances felt grateful to her hostess when she saw the kindliness with which she was greeting her little guest, seating her on a low chair near herself, and expressing regret at the increasing coldness of the night.
“It was really so good of you and your sister to come to us this evening,” she said; “especially as I am afraid the weather is changing.”
Betty’s dark eyes looked up in hers gratefully.
“Eira and I would have been very disappointed not to come,” she said, “and, oh! I was so glad to get here before you had all come in from the dining-room. May I stay beside you here, Mrs Littlewood, and then—” She stopped.
“Certainly,” replied her hostess, with a smile. The girl’s appealingness was a new experience to her. “But what were you going to say?—‘And then?’”
A tinge of colour crept into Betty’s cheeks, making her look prettier, at least to one close beside her; indeed, the delicacy of her features and colouring, like those of an exquisite miniature, could scarcely be appreciated from a distance, where the general effect was apt on small provocation, such as a cold day or a little extra fatigue, to fade into insignificance.
“I was only going to say,” she replied, “that if I stay near you, mamma and the others won’t think I was shy or ‘absent,’ as they do sometimes, even if I don’t talk much.”
“I will protect you then,” said Mrs Littlewood, laughing, though while she spoke she glanced round with the quick discernment of a well-trained hostess. The result was satisfactory. Lady Emma and Mrs Charlemont were getting on famously; Eira and the latter’s daughter had already, thanks to Madeleine’s introduction, coalesced; while at a little distance a group of the remaining three, Frances, her new friend, Lady Leila Bryan, and Madeleine, were talking with interest and animation. Till the men made their appearance at least, Mrs Littlewood was free to devote herself to her little favourite.
“We had an unexpected arrival this evening,” she told her, “did you know? Oh no! how could you? Your father’s cousin, Mr Ryder Morion—Mr Morion, I suppose I should say! But since we’ve been here I have learnt to associate that with your father. Ryder Morion arrived here this afternoon.”