"I thought I had better tell you. Sir Edgar, that Mademoiselle
d'Aubergne is in the drawing-room."
I looked at him in astonishment.
"Who is Mademoiselle d'Aubergne?" I asked.
"Do you not know, Sir Edgar?" he said, in great surprise.
"I have never even heard the name," I replied.
"Mademoiselle is the daughter of the late Sir Barnard's cousin; she has
been living here for the past five years. Sir Barnard, I believe,
adopted her. I thought perhaps Messrs. Moreland & Paine might have
mentioned her."
They had perhaps forgotten to do so, and I felt quite at a loss what to
do. However, if there was a lady in the house, I was bound to be
courteous; so I went to the drawing-room.
I attempt no description of that magnificent room, its treasures of art,
its statues, pictures, flowers, its wonders of bric-a-brac. For the
first minute my eyes were dazzled, and then I saw--
Well, I had read in the old poets' descriptions of sirens' wondrous
language, wondrous words telling of beauty almost divine in its
radiance--of golden hair that had caught the sunshine and held it
captive--of eyes like lode-stars, in whose depths men lost
themselves--of lovely scarlet lips that could smile and threaten.
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