As far as the hats
allowed one to see from above, each wore sandal-shoes, and carried a
small green parasol, neatly folded.
At the sight of this regiment of visitors, Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys paused
with razor in air and blood trickling down his chin. The Admiral
marched resolutely up the path and struck three distinct knocks upon
the door.
It was opened by the youth in buttons.
The Admiral produced a sheaf of visiting cards and handed them to the
page, as if inviting him to select one, note it carefully, and
restore it to the pack.
"Is the Honourable Frederic Goodwyn-Sandys or the Honourable Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys at home?"
Words cannot do justice to the Admiral's tone.
The regiment was marched into the drawing-room, where Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys rose to receive them.
[Illustration: Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys rose to receive them.]
She was undeniably beautiful; not young, but rather in that St.
Martin's Summer when a woman learns for the first time the value of
her charms. Her hair was of a glossy black, her lips red and full,
her figure and grey morning gown two miracles. But on her eyes and
voice you shall hear Mr. Moggridge, who subsequently wasted a deal of
Her Majesty's time and his own paper upon this subject. From a
note-book of his, the early pages of which are constant to a certain
Sophia, I select the following--
"TO GRACIOSA, WALKING AND TALKING.
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