"It should
have been sufficient for her that her benefactor preferred to remain
anonymous."
"I regret, Sir Wingrave, that I must disagree with you," Mr. Pengarth
answered boldly. "Miss Juliet, Miss Lundy I should say, is a young
lady of character--and--er--some originality of disposition. She is a
great favorite with everyone around here."
Wingrave remained silent. He had the air of one not troubling to reply
to what he considered folly. Through the wide open window floated in
the various sounds of the little country town, the rumbling of heavy
carts passing along the cobbled streets, the shrill greetings of
neighbors and acquaintances meeting upon the sidewalk. And then the
tinkling bell of a rubber-tired cart pulling up outside, and a clear
girlish voice speaking to some one of the passers-by.
Wingrave betrayed as much surprise as it was possible for him to show
when at last she stood with outstretched hand before him. He had only
an imperfect recollection of an ill-clad, untidy-looking child, with
pale tear-stained cheeks, and dark unhappy eyes. The march of the
years had been a thing whose effects he had altogether underestimated.
The girl who stood now facing him was slight, and there was something
of the child left in her bright eager face, but she carried herself
with all the graceful assurance of an older woman. Her soft, dark eyes
were lit with pleasure and excitement, her delicately traced eyebrows
and delightful smile were somehow suggestive of her foreign descent.
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