At the ball he had seen that the girl's effect had been of a kind which
even money and good looks uncombined with another thing might not
have produced. And she had the other thing--whatsoever it might be. He
observed the way in which the Dunholms met and greeted her, he marked
the glance of the royal personage, and his manner, when after her
presentation he conversed with and detained her, he saw the turning
of heads and exchange of remarks as she moved through the rooms. Most
especially, he took in the bearing of the very grand old ladies, led
by Lady Alanby of Dole. Barriers had thrown themselves down, these
portentous, rigorous old pussycats admired her, even liked her.
"Upon my word," he said to himself. "She has a way with her, you know.
She is a combination of Ethel Newcome and Becky Sharp. But she is more
level-headed than either of them, There's a touch of Trix Esmond, too."
The sense of the success which followed her, and the gradually-growing
excitement of looking on at her light whirls of dance, the carnation
of her cheek, and the laughter and pleasure she drew about her, had
affected him in a way by which he was secretly a little exhilarated. He
was conscious of a rash desire to force his way through these laughing,
vaunting young idiots, juggle or snatch their dances away from them, and
seize on the girl himself.
Pages:
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617