some delicate excuse for withdrawing without committing himself
further, was here suddenly attracted by a repetition of the
rustling of the unseen skirt. This time it was nearer, and this
time it seemed to strike even Mrs. Brooks's remote preoccupation.
"My daughter, who is deeply devoted to her brother," she said,
slightly raising her voice, "will take upon herself the care of
looking after Tappington's precious mementoes, and spare you the
trouble. Cherry, dear! this way. This is the young gentleman
spoken of by Mr. Carstone, your papa's friend. My daughter
Cherubina, Mr. Bly."

The fair owner of the rustling skirt, which turned out to be a
pretty French print, had appeared at the doorway. She was a tall,
slim blonde, with a shy, startled manner, as of a penitent nun who
was suffering for some conventual transgression--a resemblance that
was heightened by her short-cut hair, that might have been cropped
as if for punishment. A certain likeness to her mother suggested
that she was qualifying for that saint's ascetic shawl--subject,
however, to rebellious intervals, indicated in the occasional
sidelong fires of her gray eyes. Yet the vague impression that she
knew more of the world than her mother, and that she did not look
at all as if her name was Cherubina, struck Bly in the same
momentary glance.

"Mr. Bly is naturally pleased with what he has seen of our dear
Tappington's appointments; and as I gather from Mr. Carstone's
letter that he is anxious to enter at once and make the most of the
dear boy's absence, you will see, my dear Cherry, that Ellen has
everything ready for him?"