Bassett on my introduction, and my assurance that he is a
respectable country gentleman, and bears no resemblance in character to
"Yours faithfully,
"ARTHUR VANDELEUR."
Next day Bassett called at Miss Somerset's house in May Fair, and
delivered his introduction.
He was admitted after a short delay and entered the lady's boudoir. It
was Luxury's nest. The walls were rose colored satin, padded and
puckered; the voluminous curtains were pale satin, with floods and
billows of real lace; the chairs embroidered, the tables all buhl and
ormolu, and the sofas felt like little seas. The lady herself, in a
delightful peignoir, sat nestled cozily in a sort of ottoman with arms.
Her finely formed hand, clogged with brilliants, was just conveying
brandy and soda-water to a very handsome mouth when Richard Bassett
entered.
She raised herself superbly, but without leaving her seat, and just
looked at a chair in a way that seemed to say, "I permit you to sit
down;" and that done, she carried the glass to her lips with the same
admirable firmness of hand she showed in driving. Her lofty manner,
coupled with her beautiful but rather haughty features, smacked of
imperial origin. Yet she was the writer to "jorge," and four years ago
a shrimp-girl, running into the sea with legs as brown as a berry.
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