"Yes it looks very nice when it is lighted up," replied Lottie nonchalantly. "Averil has the art of making all her rooms look comfortable and home-like. There is nothing stiff even in this one. Some people's drawing-rooms always have an unused look, just as though no one ever lived in them."
"Two fire-places, and all those big windows, and a floor so long that one could dance over it. Ah! I thought that was a stranger, that girl in black, with the pale lace and I see it is myself." And Annette stood before the glass panel, gravely regarding herself, while Lottie watched her in some amusement.
"I think you will know yourself again," she said, a little sarcastically. But the sarcasm was lost on Annette, who was still contemplating her image with the utmost seriousness.
"Forgive me if I keep you too long," she returned; "but until this moment I do not think I have ever seen myself clearly; that is why I interview myself as I would a stranger. It is good, it is wholesome, to realize that one has no claims to admiration—a pale, long face—Bah! You shall take my place, Miss Lottie—the big glass will be more pleased to reflect you."
The little compliment pleased Lottie, though she pretended to laugh it off. "You are not fair to yourself" she said, blushing. "The glass has not seen you talk. When people are animated they look better. No one can judge of themselves. Averil always speaks of herself as an ugly little thing; it is a sort of craze with her to think she shocks people at first sight. But there are times, I assure you, when I almost think she is beautiful. Oh! there is the breakfast-bell. I am so glad, for I am as hungry as a hunter. Come along, Miss Ramsay; we shall find Averil at her post."
Averil, who was almost hidden behind the big urn, looked up from her letters, and gave Annette a kind welcome.
"Have you slept well, dear? I think you look more rested. Mrs. Willmot, this is my cousin, Annette Ramsay"—addressing a tall, fine-looking woman in widow's dress, who was reading the paper in the window.
"Oh, indeed!" she returned, rather coolly, holding out her plump white hand as she spoke, but without advancing a step. "I hope you are very well, Miss Ramsay."
"I am always well, thank you," returned Annette, shrinking a little from the keen scrutiny of those handsome hazel eyes. It must be confessed Mrs. Willmot's reception was somewhat chilling. "To that lady I am an unwelcome visitor," she thought; for the girl was tolerably shrewd and clear-sighted.
"Come and sit by me, Annette," observed Averil, quickly. "Lottie, will you help Annette to some of that omelet? The others are not down—we generally begin without them. I wonder how you felt when you woke up in a strange room this morning, and if you wished yourself back in the Rue St. Joseph?"