In a large octagon-shaped apartment that had been fitted up as a
library, the most pleasing feature of which was its Southern aspect,
were seated _tete a tete_ two personages, who figured somewhat
conspicuously in the early part of our story, these were Mrs. Fraudhurst
and Sir Ralph Coleman. They had met here at the request of the Baronet,
for Sir Ralph and the widow rarely met except by appointment or at the
dinner table.
Time had dealt kindly with the lady, and what was deficient by nature
was supplied by art, for she was one of those who always paid the most
scrupulous attention to their toilette. If we were to describe her as
fat, fair, and forty, we should certainly wrong her. Fair and forty she
undoubtedly was, but fat she certainly was not. There was a slight
tendency to embonpoint, but this was relieved by her tall and not
ungraceful figure. She was what might be termed a decidedly handsome
woman. The corpulent lawyer had subsided into the sleek,
well-conditioned country gentleman. But there was at times a certain
restlessness of the eye, and a nervous twitching at the corners of the
mouth, which, to a keen observer, would indicate that he was not always
the quiet, self-possessed person that he would have his neighbors to
believe. The business on which they had met had been interrupted by the
entrance of a servant with a note to Sir Ralph, but, on his leaving the
room, the conversation was resumed by Mrs.
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