‘Don’t you think Mr Golightly very nice-looking?’ asked Miss Wynter with the most innocent air imaginable.
‘Intellectual-looking, no doubt. He has the air of a man who habitually burns the midnight oil. I have no doubt that the dear bishop has inculcated him with studious habits.’
It will be observed that her ladyship’s English was occasionally a little slipshod, especially when she lugged long words into her sentences with which she had only a bowing acquaintance.
Miss Wynter turned away to hide a smile. ‘What fun it will be to tell all this to Dick, by-and-by!’ she said to herself.
‘We must cultivate him, my dear,’ resumed her ladyship, who evidently deemed two strings better than one, to her niece’s bow. ‘In these days, a bishop’s son is not by any means to be sneered at. Who knows but that he may take a fancy to you! You must endeavour to sit next him at dinner, and draw him gently on to talk of the subjects that interest him, and then of course you will discover that you are deeply interested in the same subjects yourself.’
‘I will do my best, aunt,’ responded Bella softly.
At this moment the door opened, and Madame De Vigne entered the room. The two ladies rose simultaneously to their feet.
‘Lady Renshaw?’ said madame inquiringly, with a slight but stately inclination of the head.
Her ladyship bowed in some confusion. ‘Madame De Vigne, I presume?’ she contrived to stammer out. For once in a way her self-confidence had deserted her.
‘Yes,’ was the simple answer, but still with the same look of inquiry in the large, lustrous, melancholy eyes.