There was something in her appearance which--why or wherefore she could scarcely tell--changed Lady Tyrrell's feelings to her in a moment, not entirely, indeed, but in a very great degree. What was it that she expected to see in Mrs. Effingham? It was, in fact, anything but what she did see. It was a gay widow, that darkest and most anomalous of all natural chimeras. Now, the whole of Mrs. Effingham's appearance bespoke her the very reverse. There was not the slightest trickery about her dress. It was the plain, unbecoming dress of the widow, as unbecoming as it could be rendered. There was no affectation about her manner. It was sad even under an effort to be cheerful. She smiled, indeed, but it was the ripple over a dark, deep sea, and Lady Tyrrell found that she had misconstrued her husband's words, or that they had pictured Mrs. Effingham very ill. She instantly extended her hand to her. Mrs. Effingham took it quietly, saying, "Lady Tyrrell, I suppose;" but, by this time, Sir Francis Tyrrell had advanced, and he now proceeded not only to welcome his fair guest, but to introduce her and Lady Tyrrell to each other with formal courtesy and politeness. The introduction of his son followed; but almost at the same moment Lady Tyrrell asked, "Where is Miss Effingham? Has she not accompanied you?" "She is speaking with her maid," replied Mrs. Effingham, "and will be here immediately. I have been lately somewhat of an invalid, and therefore came in from the night air at once." Charles Tyrrell was young, and hesitated whether he should or should not go out to the carriage door to meet Miss Effingham. He would have done so to any other person; but the hint which Lady Tyrrell had given him of the purposes of his father, and a doubt whether those purposes might not be suspected or known both by Mrs. Effingham and her daughter, made him hesitate. That hesitation was increased by seeing the eyes of Mrs. Effingham fixed steadfastly upon him, with some degree of surprise, perhaps, but still with a scrutinizing and examining look. A hint from his mother, however, made him turn towards the door for the purpose of doing what was courteous, at all events; and as soon as he had left the room, Mrs. Effingham said, in some surprise to Sir Francis, "I thought your son was much younger! He seems two or three-and-twenty. I fancied him much younger than Lucy." A well-pleased smile came over the countenance of Lady Tyrrell, and Sir Francis answered, "That was, I suppose, because, in writing, I called him _the boy_; but that is only a form of speech, you know. He is not of age, yet, however, thank Heaven, for I am sure he is not fit to take care of himself. Few men have sufficient wit to keep themselves from running their head against a wall till they are thirty at least. Permit me, madam, to introduce my friend Mr. Driesen; though, I believe, you already are acquainted with him."