“I saw her only a few days ago at Bamborough, and admired her greatly. She is really very handsome. I think Tom Forster is épris. No doubt Sir John Webb is returning to Dorsetshire with his family, and Tom is escorting them on their journey. I dare say we shall hear of an engagement by-and-by.”
“If she is as handsome as you describe her, Anna Webb ought not to be a rude fox-hunter's wife,” said the prince. “But come! let us go and have a look at the two beauties. You have roused my curiosity.”
V.—ANNA WEBB AND DOROTHY FORSTER.
How well the two beauties looked in their gay riding-dresses of scarlet and blue, trimmed with gold and silver lace, and plumed hats! Slight and graceful in figure, and nearly of an age, Anna Webb was a few months older than Dorothy, but she could not be more than nineteen.
Dorothy had cheeks like a blush-rose, tender blue eyes, and flaxen tresses, with features that could not be called regular, but were, nevertheless, excessively pretty; while Anna's locks were of a raven hue, her eyes large, black, and lustrous, and fringed with silken lashes, her tint pale, yet clear, and her face classically faultless in outline.
If the palm of beauty could not be assigned to Dorothy, it must be owned that she had a more agreeable expression than Anna, whose short curling upper lip gave her a somewhat disdainful look.
But they were both lovely creatures, and quite enchanted the Chevalier de Saint George, as he first beheld them standing near a marble fountain at the edge of the large, smooth-shaven lawn near the terrace.
Close beside them was Lady Webb—a fine, stately, middle-aged dame, richly dressed in damask, and having a hoop petticoat, long stiff bodice, and a lofty head-dress.