TELL me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think of our new visitors? Vicar of Wakefield.
MRS. MERTON and her daughter were already in the middle drawing-room, seated on either side of Mrs. Leslie,—the former a woman of quiet and pleasing exterior, her face still handsome, and if not intelligent, at least expressive of sober good-nature and habitual content; the latter a fine dark-eyed girl, of decided countenance, and what is termed a showy style of beauty,—tall, self-possessed, and dressed plainly indeed, but after the approved fashion. The rich bonnet of the large shape then worn; the Chantilly veil; the gay French Cachemire; the full sleeves, at that time the unnatural rage; the expensive yet unassuming robe de soie; the perfect chaussure ; the air of society, the easy manner, the tranquil but scrutinizing gaze,—all startled, discomposed, and half-frightened Evelyn.
Miss Merton herself, if more at her ease, was equally surprised by the beauty and unconscious grace of the young fairy before her, and rose to greet her with a well-bred cordiality, which at once made a conquest of Evelyn's heart.
Mrs. Merton kissed her cheek, and smiled kindly on her, but said little. It was easy to see that she was a less conversable and more homely person than Caroline.
When Evelyn conducted them to their rooms, the mother and daughter detected at a glance the care that had provided for their comforts; and something eager and expectant in Evelyn's eyes taught the good-nature of the one and the good breeding of the other to reward their young hostess by various little exclamations of pleasure and satisfaction.
“Dear, how nice! What a pretty writing-desk!” said one—“And the pretty goldfish!” said the other—“And the piano, too, so well placed;" and Caroline's fair fingers ran rapidly over the keys. Evelyn retired, covered with smiles and blushes. And then Mrs. Merton permitted herself to say to the well-dressed abigail,—
“Do take away those flowers, they make me quite faint.”
“And how low the room is,—so confined!” said Caroline, when the lady's lady withdrew with the condemned flowers. “And I see no Pysche. However, the poor people have done their best.”
“Sweet person, Lady Vargrave!” said Mrs. Merton,—“so interesting, so beautiful; and how youthful in appearance!”
“No tournure—not much the manner of the world,” said Caroline.
“Hem!” said Caroline. “The girl is very pretty, though too small.”
“Such a smile, such eyes,—she is irresistible! and what a fortune! She will be a charming friend for you, Caroline.”
“Yes, she maybe useful, if she marry Lord Vargrave; or, indeed, if she make any brilliant match. What sort of a man is Lord Vargrave?”
“I never saw him; they say, most fascinating.”
