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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Is not she beautiful?" "I must see more of her if I am to answer critically; but before you introduce me, may I be permitted to ask who and what is Lily?" Mrs. Braefield paused a moment before she answered, and yet the answer was brief enough not to need much consideration She is a Miss Mordaunt, an orphan; and as I before told you, resides with her aunt, Mrs. Cameron, a widow.
Instinctively she smoothed back her loosened tresses, replaced the straw hat, and came up demurely to his side just as he had accosted her aunt. "Pardon my intrusion, Mrs. Cameron. I am the bearer of this note from Mrs. Braefield." While the aunt read the note, he turned to the niece. "You promised to show me the picture, Miss Mordaunt." "But that was a long time ago."
Braefield also had the wit to discover that, under the infantine ways and phantasies of this almost self-taught girl, there lay, as yet undeveloped, the elements of a beautiful womanhood. So that altogether, from the very day she first re-encountered Kenelm, Elsie's thought had been that Lily was the wife to suit him.
Braefield alone in the drawing-room, seated by a table covered with flowers, which she was assorting and intermixing for the vases to which they were destined. It struck him that her manner was more reserved than usual and somewhat embarrassed; and when, after a few preliminary matters of small talk, he rushed boldly /in medias res/ and asked if she had seen Mrs.
"And if I go you will talk to me? I am afraid of Mr. Braefield. He is so wise." "I will save you from him, and will not utter a grain of wisdom." "Aunty, I will go." Here Lily made a bound and caught up Blanche, who, taking her kisses resignedly, stared with evident curiosity upon Kenelm. Here a bell within the house rang the announcement of luncheon. Mrs.
Braefield with a certain pride in her look. Kenelm responded cordially to the civilities of the master of the house, who had just returned from his city office, and left all its cares behind him. You had only to look at him to see that he was prosperous and deserved to be so. There were in his countenance the signs of strong sense, of good-humor above all, of an active, energetic temperament.
"Do stay at least till to-morrow," said Mrs. Braefield. Kenelm hesitated still; and while hesitating, his eyes rested on Lily, leaning on the arm of a middle-aged lady, and approaching the hostess evidently to take leave. "I cannot resist so tempting an invitation," said Kenelm, and he fell back a little behind Lily and her companion. "Thank you much for so pleasant a day," said Mrs.
A man of broad smooth forehead, keen hazel eyes, firm lips and jaw; with a happy contentment in himself, his house, the world in general, mantling over his genial smile, and outspoken in the metallic ring of his voice. "You will stay and dine with us, of course," said Mr. Braefield; "and, unless you want very much to be in town to-night, I hope you will take a bed here." Kenelm hesitated.
She looked wonderfully lovely; and with that loveliness there was a certain nameless air of distinction, possibly owing to delicacy of form and colouring; possibly to a certain grace of carriage, which was not without a something of pride. Mr. Braefield, who was a very punctual man, made a sign to his servant, and in another moment or so dinner was announced.
A few minutes afterwards Kenelm was walking by the side of Lily along the banks of a little stream, tributary to the Thames; Mrs. Cameron and Mr. Braefield in advance, for the path only held two abreast. Suddenly Lily left his side, allured by a rare butterfly I think it is called the Emperor of Morocco that was sunning its yellow wings upon a group of wild reeds.
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