Now it was rather a rare thing to see a lady walking through that
village, so both Sir Charles and his son looked keenly at her as she
came toward them.
Compton turned crimson, and raised his hat to her rather awkwardly.
Sir Charles, who did not know the lady from Eve, saluted her,
nevertheless, and with infinite grace; for Sir Charles, in his youth,
had lived with some of the elite of French society, and those gentlemen
bow to the person whom their companion bows to. Sir Charles had
imported this excellent trait of politeness, and always practiced it,
though not the custom in England, the more the pity.
As soon as the young lady had passed and was out of hearing, Sir
Charles said to Compton, "Who is that lovely girl? Why, how the boy is
blushing!"
"Oh, papa!"
"Well, what is the matter?"
"Don't you see? It is herself come back from school."
"I have no doubt it is herself, and not her sister, but who is
herself?"
"Ruperta Bassett."
"Richard Bassett's daughter! impossible. That young lady looks
seventeen or eighteen years of age."
"Yes, but it is Ruperta. There's nobody like her. Papa!"
"Well?"
"I suppose I may speak to her now."
"What for?"
"She is so beautiful."
"That she really is. And therefore I advise you to have nothing to say
to her.
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