She was a slim, elegant woman, pale
and perhaps a little insipid looking at ordinary times, but a famous and
reckless rider to hounds, and an enthusiastic sportswoman. She was one of
the few women concerning whom I never heard a single breath of scandal,
notwithstanding her husband's long and frequent absences. She gave me
little time, however, to revise my impressions of her; for, with a little
spluttering of her pen, she finished her letter and came towards me.
"I hope you've come to lunch," she remarked; "I have the most delightful
young person staying with me. You'll be charmed with her."
"A young lady?" I remarked.
"Yes! An American girl who talks English--and doesn't enthuse. Seems to
know something about horses too!"
"Where did you discover this paragon?" I asked.
"My cousin sent her down. She knows everybody," Lady Dennisford answered.
"I met her at lunch last week, and she spoke of hunting with the Pytchley
next season. She's going to have a look at the country. Sorry the rain
spoilt your match."
I hesitated a moment.
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