of Ruth, and above the mantel a long, clear mirror held a similitude of
brilliant colour--the scarlet of Mrs. Winscombe's gown, Myrtle's azure
lutestring on a petticoat of ruffled citron spreading over her hoops and
little white kid slippers with gilt heels, Caroline's flowered Chinese
silk. The room was large and square, with a Turkey floor carpet, and
walls hung with paper printed in lavender and black perspectives from
copper plates. A great many candles had been lighted, on tables and
mantel, and in lacquer stands. One of the latter, at Mrs. Winscombe's
side, showed her features clearly.

Howat Penny saw that while she was actually no prettier than Caroline
she was infinitely more vivid and compelling. Her face held an
extraordinary potency; her bare arms and shoulders were more insistent
than his sister's; there was about her a consciousness of the allurement
of body, frankness in its employment. She made no effort to mask her
feeling, which at present was one of complete indifference to her
surroundings; and, not talking, a shadow had settled on her vision.
Caroline was seated on a little sofa across from the fireplace, and she
moved her voluminous skirt aside, made a place for him.

"Almost nothing of Annapolis," Mrs. Winscombe replied to a query of what
she had seen in Maryland. "We were there hardly two weeks, and I hadn't
recovered from the trip across the sea. When I think of returning God
knows I'd almost stay here. You wouldn't suppose one person could vent
so much. I believe Felix went to a Jockey Club, there were balls and
farces; but I kept in bed." Mrs. Penny asked, "And London--how are you
amused there now?" The other retied the bow of a garter. "Fireworks,
Roman candles to Mr. Handel's music, and Italian parties, Villeggiatura.
Covent Garden with paper lanterns among the trees, seductions--"