. . .
"Yes, my dear, I know I am late," she began before she was inside the
door, "but Og had so much to say, and there was a block at Hyde Park
Corner. My dear Michael, how smart you look!"
She came round the corner of the screen and the Falbes burst upon her,
Hermann and Sylvia standing by the fire. For the short, spectacled
pianist there was this very tall, English-looking young man, upright and
soldierly, with his handsome, boyish face and well-fitting clothes. That
was bad enough, but infinitely worse was she who was to have been the
full-blown barmaid. Instead was this magnificent girl, nearly as tall as
her brother, with her small oval face crowning the column of her neck,
her eyes merry, her mouth laughing at some brotherly retort that Hermann
had just made. Aunt Barbara took her in with one second's survey--her
face, her neck, her beautiful dress, her whole air of ease and
good-breeding, and gave a despairing glance at her own prickly tea-gown.
For the moment, amiably accustomed as she was to laugh at herself, she
did not find it humourous.
"Miss Sylvia Falbe, Aunt Barbara," said Michael with a little tremor
in his voice; "and Mr. Hermann Falbe, Lady Barbara Jerome," he added,
rather as if he expected nobody to believe it.
Pages:
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183