“Mr. Chichester to see you, my lord.”
St. Quentin and Sydney looked up; the latter with a quick flush, which made her prettier than ever, her cousin thought.
She was reading the paper to him, with a praiseworthy effort, hitherto not crowned with much success, to feel a keen interest in the “Imperial Parliament.”
“Oh—Hugh,” St. Quentin said, with a glance at Sydney. “I suppose he has run down to see Lorry. Ask him to come in, John.”
Hugh was looking rather excited, and his voice could not repress a certain eagerness, as he took the hand the marquess held out. St. Quentin could not help liking¹ the look of the clean-cut, honest young face, with straightforwardness² and self-control in every line of it.
“It’s a frightful³ pity he hasn’t ten thousand
[252]
 a year,” the marquess thought to himself, watching the way Sydney’s eyes shone as she greeted the young man. “If he had anything respectable in the way of an income, he should have the child, upon my word he should! But a young doctor with no special prospects⁴!” and he shook his head.
“You wanted me, eh? Hope you left the Doctor and Mrs. Chichester quite well? Sydney, hadn’t you better get your ride while the sun’s out? It’s a first-class morning, and you’ll see Mr. Chichester at lunch, you know, and get all your town news then.”
Hugh’s eyes followed the graceful⁵ figure from the room. He had not seen her before in long dresses and with the hair coiled round the shapely head. Though the presentation had not taken place, partly owing to the illness, and later to Sydney’s obstinate⁶ refusal to leave the cousin to whom she was becoming daily more necessary, even Lady Frederica had seen the impossibility of keeping the child-Sydney any longer.
They had grown used to the change at the Castle, but Hugh saw her for the first time with the unspeakable charm of sweet young womanhood upon her.
[253]
St. Quentin

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