"Mr. Brabazon, I presume."
"At your service, Lady Clinton," answered Burgo, as for a moment he bent over the rather large, but beautifully shaped hand which was extended for his acceptance.
"I have heard much of you, and am glad to see you. Pray be seated." Her tones were clear and incisive, like those of a person in the habit of giving orders and of having them obeyed.
When he had sat down, Burgo was enabled to observe her more at his leisure.
Notwithstanding that the bloom and freshness of youth had left her for ever, she was still a very handsome and presentable woman, and had nothing of the typical adventuress in her appearance, as Burgo was fain at once to concede.
Her complexion was dark--a clear, dark olive--without being in the least degree sallow. (Burgo called to mind that Cusden had said something about her being of semi-Italian parentage, and he could well believe it) She had a plentiful mass of jet black silky hair, and rather thick but finely-curved eyebrows. But the eyes themselves, which in colour matched her hair, Burgo did not like. They seemed to him cold, watchful, almost cruel. Her mouth was rather large and her lips were ripe and full--a little too ripe and full some people deemed them, while there were others who counted them as one of the most attractive features of a more than ordinarily attractive physiognomy. For so do opinions differ.
She looked best when she smiled and displayed her splendid teeth, and she was quite aware of the fact.
There was a little pause after they had seated themselves, which Burgo was the first to break.
"I trust that my uncle is quite well, Lady Clinton?" he said.
"I am sorry to say that dear Sir Everard is far from well. We had a rough passage across, and it seems to have upset him considerably."