"
And she left him with a wry face, her own glowing again.
"You looked simply great--especially towards the end," whispered Morna
Woodgate in the drawing-room, for she alone knew how nervous Rachel had
been about what was indeed her social debut in Delverton.
The aquiline lady also had a word to say. Her eyes were like brown
beads, and her nose very long, which gave her indeed a hawk-like
appearance, somewhat unusual in a woman; but her gravity was rather that
of the owl.
"You talked a great deal to Mr. Langholm," said she, sounding her rebuke
rather cleverly in the key of mere statement of fact. "Have you read his
books, Mrs. Steel?"
"Some of them," said Rachel; "haven't you?"
"Oh, no, I never read novels, unless it be George Eliot, or in these
days Mrs. Humphrey Ward. It's such waste of time when there are
Browning, Ruskin, and Carlyle to read and read again. I know I shouldn't
like Mr. Langholm's; I am sure they are dreadfully uncultured and
sensational."
"But I like sensation," Rachel said. "I like to be taken out of myself."
"So you suggested he should write a novel about Mrs. Minchin!"
"No, I didn't suggest it," said Rachel, hurriedly; but the beady brown
eyes were upon her, and she felt herself reddening horribly as she
spoke.
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