"The Count! Oh, the dearest and liveliest creature you ever saw. He is engaged to pay Tom a visit, or rather myself, for I don't think Tom liked him. He will visit us in the autumn. I have been obliged to bring a French maid home, to dress me, because a lady's maid here is only fit to dress an English woman."
"Have you renounced the title of English woman, Anna Maria?" asked her father, gravely.
"No, indeed, papa. I shall always be English; but Félicé has such a way of blending colours, and making up dresses!--You shall judge for yourself. Is there a party, to-day, at dinner; or, are we to have a _soirée_?"
Mrs. Pynsent and her son entered the room, followed by Mrs. Hancock, as Anna Maria spoke. Tom Pynsent advanced to his lady.
"Well, little woman, chatting away!--Do you see, Sir John, how rosy we are by our trip? I wish you could have seen her talking and chirping to De Nolis. You would have been surprised."
"My heavens! What a couple of painted cheeks!" exclaimed Mrs. Pynsent, in a tone of horror.
"A couple of what?" cried her son, quickly. Anna Maria became perceptibly distressed: her husband surveyed her with looks of perfect satisfaction and admiration, entirely unconscious of the cause of her agitation.
"Yes, she is rosy enough now, bless her! I am glad France has done such wonders for my wife: she looked as healthy as the best of them in Paris. De Nolis advised her to rouge at first. No, none of that, says I. No wife of mine shall paint, like Jezebal. I was right, you see, for her cheeks soon grew blooming as a rose--didn't they?" he added, chucking her under the chin.
Miss Wycherly smiled. Anna Maria recovered her self-possession, and began a tirade against English costume, without answering her mother-in-law's observation. She spoke so much more rapidly than "Miss Wetheral" had ever spoken. She seemed to have acquired so much alertness of speech and manner--so much forwardness in making remarks--her eyes were so bright, and her cheeks bore such a deep _couleur de rose_, that Christobelle sat in fixed attention, watching her movements. She thought Anna Maria remarkably improved in person; she admired the vivacity of her countenance, and manner; but she was no longer the simple and elegant Anna Maria, so gentle and so mild--that many opinions had decided her to be insipid. Every one appeared watching her with nearly equal surprise and attention. Mrs. Pynsent stood with her arms akimbo, and her eyes rooted upon her son; but the others were all earnestly listening to Mrs. Tom Pynsent, as she commented upon the dreadful _tournure_ of the English fashionist.