“Oh, auntie!” said Sophy, under her breath. She stood, holding the dress in her hands, in natural curiosity and excitement, her pretty round face all flushed. She did not want to go; but she was dutiful though she was excited, and thought of nothing beyond remonstrance. Mr. Hunstanton, for his part, lost his head altogether. He got up and took the dress out of her hands (not so awkwardly for a man, they said afterwards). When he had laid it down with clumsy care on the sofa, he took Sophy’s hand, and drew her forward. “Sit down here,” he said. “Come, Sophy, you needn’t blush. I am not going to make love to you. We’ll leave _him_ to do that; but I can’t let you be sent away. It is her affair. Let her hear it. After all, there is nobody so much interested. Well now, look here--guess! You ladies have eyes more than we have for that sort of thing especially. Who do you suppose has sent me here to-day?” Sophy sat where he had placed her, and looked at him, her soft little face crimson with excitement and pleasurable expectation, her blue eyes round and eager. She was a pretty little thing, and a man would be very well off, the ambassador thought, with such a fresh soft innocent creature always looking up to him. Mr. Hunstanton was sensible enough to feel that a wife always looking up to you might be, on the whole, inconvenient now and then: but still it would be pleasant; and it would just suit Pandolfini, who was a solemn sort of personage. Where is the man that would not like it? though the other sort of wife is of more use, perhaps; and he was content with his own lot. Sophy looked quite ready to accept any love-making that should come her way. Her lips were a little apart, her breath coming quick, her little heart all a-flutter, her whole mind absorbed in inquiry. Who could it be? Pandolfini was the romantic hero of Sophy’s imagination, but there were two or three others whom she would not have frowned upon. Which could it be? Her eyes fixed upon Mr. Hunstanton with growing eagerness. She made a pretty picture--all glowing innocence and ignorance, the most charming blank sheet of paper on which a man could desire to inscribe his name. “Mr. Hunstanton!” said Mrs. Norton, shocked; “indeed I don’t approve of my child being exposed to this. Sophy, you had really better go away. It is quite improper--it is a sort of thing--we are not accustomed to----”