“Certainly, sir.”
“Tall?”
“Nearly as tall as I am, Major.”
“Aye? aye? aye? A good figure?”
“As slim as a sapling, sir, and as upright as a dart.”
“On second thoughts, I am at home, Oliver. Show her in! show her in!”
So far, one thing at least seemed to be clear. I had done well in sending for the chambermaid. What would Oliver’s report of me have been if I had presented myself to him with my colorless cheeks and my ill-dressed hair?
The servant reappeared, and conducted me to the inner room. Major Fitz-David advanced to welcome me. What was the Major like?
Well, he was like a well-preserved old gentleman of, say, sixty years old, little and lean, and chiefly remarkable by the extraordinary length of his nose. After this feature, I noticed next his beautiful brown wig; his sparkling little gray eyes; his rosy complexion; his short military whisker, dyed to match his wig; his white teeth and his winning smile; his smart blue frock-coat, with a camellia in the button-hole; and his splendid ring, a ruby, flashing on his little finger as he courteously signed to me to take a chair.
“Dear Mrs. Woodville, how very kind of you this is! I have been longing to have the happiness of knowing you. Eustace is an old friend of mine. I congratulated him when I heard of his marriage. May I make a confession?—I envy him now I have seen his wife.”