Words cannot do justice to the Admiral's tone. The regiment was marched into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys rose to receive them. [Illustration: Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys rose to receive them.] She was undeniably beautiful; not young, but rather in that St. Martin's Summer when a woman learns for the first time the value of her charms. Her hair was of a glossy black, her lips red and full, her figure and grey morning gown two miracles. But on her eyes and voice you shall hear Mr. Moggridge, who subsequently wasted a deal of Her Majesty's time and his own paper upon this subject. From a note-book of his, the early pages of which are constant to a certain Sophia, I select the following-- "TO GRACIOSA, WALKING AND TALKING." Whenas abroad, to greet the morn, I mark my Graciosa walk, In homage bends the whisp'ring corn; Yet, to confess Its awkwardness, Must hang its head upon the stalk. And when she talks, her lips do heal The wound her lightest glances give. In pity, then, be harsh and deal Such wounds, that I May hourly die And, by a word revived, live! All this was very shocking of Mr. Moggridge; for Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys was not _his_ Graciosa at all. But it was what we were fated to come to, in Troy. And Graciosa's voice and smile were certainly inspiring. Let us return to "The Bower." The Admiral having presented his daughters, and arranged them in line again, cleared his throat and began-- "Though aware that, as judged by the standard of the best society, this visit may be condemned as premature, I have thought right to stifle such apprehensions in my anxiety to assure you of a welcome in Troy--I may say, an open-armed welcome." Here the Admiral actually spread his arms abroad. His hostess retreated a step. "My daughters,--Calypso, I perceive an errant curl--my daughters, madam, will bear me out when I say that only excess of feeling prevents their mother from joining in this--may I call it so?--this ovation." (In point of fact, Mrs. Buzza had been judged too red in the eyes to accompany the Admiral.) "Ever since I beheld you and your husband--whom I do not see" (here the Admiral stared ferociously under a table), "but who, I trust, is in health--for the first time in church yesterday"-- (Oh, Admiral Buzza!)--"I have been forcibly reminded of an expression in one of our British poets, which runs--Sophia, how the devil does it run?" Neither of the Misses Buzza had the faintest idea. Their father's efforts to remember it were interrupted by Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, who begged them, with a charming smile, to be seated. "My husband," she said, "will be down in a minute or two. It is really most kind of you to call; for, as strangers, we are naturally anxious to hear about the place and its people."