Stella sat watching her; she felt her eyes riveted to her in fact, and
suddenly she was aware that the violet eyes were fixed on hers.
She saw the beautiful lips move, saw the earl make answer, and then
watched them move together across the room.
Whither were they going? To her surprise they came toward her and
stopped in front of her.
"Miss Etheridge," said the earl, in his low, subdued voice, "let me
introduce Lady Lenore Beauchamp to you."
Stella looked up, and met the violet eyes fixed on her.
For a moment she was speechless; the eyes, so serene and full and
commanding, seemed to seek out her soul and to read every thought it
held; to read it so closely and clearly that her own eyes dropped; then
with an effort she held out her hand, and as the great beauty's closed
softly over it she raised her lids again, and so they stood looking
at each other, and Lord Leycester stood beside with the characteristic
smile on his face.
CHAPTER XI.
As Stella looked up at the great beauty, she felt for the first time
that her own dress, pretty as it was, was only sateen. She had not been
conscious of it before, but she felt it now in the presence of this
exquisitely-dressed woman. In very truth, Lady Lenore was well-dressed;
it was not only that her costumes came from Redfern's or Worth's, and
her millinery from Louise, but Lenore had acquired the art of wearing
the productions of these artistes. When looking at her, one was
forcibly reminded of the Frenchman's saying, that the world was divided
into two classes--the people who were clothed and the people who wore
their clothes. Lady Lenore belonged to those who wear their clothes;
the beautiful dress sat upon her as if she had been made to it, instead
of it to her; not a piece of lace, not a single article of jewelry, but
sat in its place gracefully and artistically.
To-night she wore a dress composed of some soft and readily-draping
material, neither cashmere nor satin--some one of the new materials
which have come over from the far east, and of which we scarcely yet
know the names. It was of the most delicate shade of grayish-blue,
which was brought out and accentuated by the single camellia resting
amidst the soft lace on her bosom. The arms were bare from the elbows,
exquisitely, warmly white and beautifully formed; one heavy bracelet,
set with huge Indian pearls, lined the wrist; there were similar huge
pearls in the rings on her fingers, and in the pendant which hung by a
seed-pearl necklace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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