Clarissa wondered that so radiant a
creature could have been so long unmarried, that it could be matter for
rejoicing that she was at last engaged. It must have been her own fault,
of course; such a woman as this could have been a duchess if she pleased,
Clarissa thought.
Lizzy Fermor came up to her while she was admiring the high-bred beauty.
"Well, Miss Lovel, what do you think of her?"
"Lady Geraldine? I think she is wonderfully handsome--and fascinating."
"Do you? Then I don't think you can know the meaning of the word
'fascination.' If I were a man, that woman would be precisely the last
in the world to touch my heart. O yes, I admit that she is very
handsome--classic profile, bright blue eyes, complexion of lilies and
roses, real golden hair--not dyed, you know--and so on; but I should as
soon think of falling in love with a statue of snow as with Lady Geraldine
Challoner. I think she has just about as much heart as the statue would
have."
"Those people with cold manners have sometimes very warm hearts," Clarissa,
remonstrated, feeling that gratitude to Lady Laura made it incumbent on her
to defend Lady Laura's sister.
"Perhaps; but that is not the case with her. She would trample upon a
hecatomb of hearts to arrive at the object of her ambition. I think she
might have made more than one brilliant marriage since she has been
out--something like ten years, you know--only she was too cold, too
obviously mercenary.
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