The lady saw Elfride, smiled and bowed, and touched her husband’s elbow, who turned and received Elfride’s movement of recognition with a gallant elevation of his hat. Then the two children held up their arms to Elfride, and laughed gleefully.
“Who is that?”
“Why, Lord Luxellian, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Swancourt, who with the vicar had been seated with her back towards them.
“Yes,” replied Elfride. “He is the one man of those I have seen here whom I consider handsomer than papa.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Mr. Swancourt.
“Yes; but your father is so much older. When Lord Luxellian gets a little further on in life, he won’t be half so good-looking as our man.”
“Thank you, dear, likewise,” said Mr. Swancourt.
“See,” exclaimed Elfride, still looking towards them, “how those little dears want me! Actually one of them is crying for me to come.”
“We were talking of bracelets just now. Look at Lady Luxellian’s,” said Mrs. Swancourt, as that baroness lifted up her arm to support one of the children. “It is slipping up her arm—too large by half. I hate to see daylight between a bracelet and a wrist; I wonder women haven’t better taste.”
“It is not on that account, indeed,” Elfride expostulated. “It is that her arm has got thin, poor thing. You cannot think how much she has altered in this last twelvemonth.”