Sir Peter lowered his spectacles, which in reality he only wanted for
books in small print, and gazed attentively on the three ladies,--at
each gaze a bow. But while his eyes were still lingeringly fixed on
Cecilia, Lady Glenalvon advanced, naturally in right of rank and the
claim of old acquaintance, the first of the three to greet him.

"Alas, my dear Sir Peter! time does not stand still for any of us;
but what matter, if it leaves pleasant footprints? When I see you
again, my youth comes before me,--my early friend, Caroline
Brotherton, now Lady Chillingly; our girlish walks with each other;
wreaths and ball-dresses the practical topic; prospective husbands,
the dream at a distance. Come and sit here: tell me all about
Caroline."

Sir Peter, who had little to say about Caroline that could possibly
interest anybody but himself, nevertheless took his seat beside Lady
Glenalvon, and, as in duty bound, made the most flattering account of
his She Baronet which experience or invention would allow. All the
while, however, his thoughts were on Kenelm, and his eyes on Cecilia.

Cecilia resumes some mysterious piece of lady's work, no matter
what,--perhaps embroidery for a music-stool, perhaps a pair of
slippers for her father (which, being rather vain of his feet and
knowing they looked best in plain morocco, he will certainly never
wear). Cecilia appears absorbed in her occupation; but her eyes and
her thoughts are on Sir Peter. Why, my lady reader may guess. And
oh, so flatteringly, so lovingly fixed! She thinks he has a most
charming, intelligent, benignant countenance. She admires even his
old-fashioned frock-coat, high neckcloth, and strapped trousers. She
venerates his gray hairs, pure of dye. She tries to find a close