“I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true.
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