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Chapter 19

           LadySibylisverylovely—IrememberherasabeautifulchildwhenIwasachildmyself—Ineverspoketoher,butIoftensawher.Shemustbecharmedattheprospectofreturningasabridetotheoldhomeshelovedsowell."

           Heretheservantenteredwiththetea,andMissClare,puttingdownhertinydog,wenttothetabletodispenseit.Iwatchedhermoveacrosstheroomwithasenseofvaguewonderandreluctantadmiration—sheratherresembledapicturebyGreuzeinhersoftwhitegownwithapalerosenestledamidtheoldFlemishlaceatherthroat—andassheturnedherheadtowardsus,thesunlightcaughtherfairhairandturnedittothesimilitudeofagoldenhalocirclingherbrows.Shewasnotabeauty;butshepossessedanundoubtedindividualcharm—adelicateattractiveness,whichsilentlyasserteditself,asthebreathofhoneysucklehiddeninthetanglesofahedge,willdelightthewayfarerwithsweetfragrancethoughtheflowersbeunseen.

           "Yourbookwasveryclever,MrTempest"—shesaidsuddenly,smilingatme—"Ireaditassoonasitcameout.ButdoyouknowIthinkyourarticlewasevencleverer?"

           Ifeltmyselfgrowinguncomfortablyredintheface.

           "Towhatarticledoyouallude,MissClare?"Istammeredconfusedly—"Idonotwriteforanymagazine."

           "No?"andshelaughedgaily—"Butyoudidonthisoccasion!You‘slated’meverysmartly!—Iquiteenjoyedit.

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