“I am so glad you admire her: she is my sister, my younger sister.”
Miss Norreys turned. For a moment she half doubted if she herself was addressed. In the interest of meetings and talk she had almost forgotten Winifred’s existence. But now the face, looking up at her so brightly and eagerly, attracted her much more than before.
“Your sister, Miss Maryon!” she said, with a sunny smile on her face; “well, I need not repeat what I said, as you heard it. But it is certainly true.”
And she felt drawn to the girl as she had not hitherto done.
“May I, oh, may I introduce her to you?” Winifred went on, and encouraged by Miss Norreys’ “By all means, if you like.”
“Celia, Celia!” she said anxiously—for Celia at that moment was being monopolised by some friends of Mrs Balderson’s—“Celia,” when the girl at last heard her, “do come here. I want to introduce you to Miss Norreys.”
Celia was feeling profoundly shy, and her shyness, as usual, veiled itself by excessive stiffness. The impression she made upon Hertha was not of the most favourable.
“She is very pretty, very pretty,” thought Miss Norreys, “but evidently nothing more, and very spoilt. This poor dear elder sister denies herself, no doubt, to do all she can for her. Their very dress shows it. I must not be prejudiced. I daresay this girl is a noble character. I must be kind to her.”
And it was with increased cordiality she bade Winifred good-bye, having already got her address and promised to write to her.
“Is she not too delightful?” said Winifred, ecstatically, to her sister.