Page 115 - swanns-way

was just finishing a tangerine. My uncertainty whether I
ought to address her as Madame or Mademoiselle made me
blush, and not daring to look too much in her direction, in
case I should be obliged to speak to her, I hurried across
to kiss my uncle. She looked at me and smiled; my uncle
said ‘My nephew!’ without telling her my name or telling
me hers, doubtless because, since his difficulties with my
grandfather, he had endeavoured as far as possible to avoid
any association of his family with this other class of ac-
quaintance.
‘How like his mother he is,’ said the lady.
‘But you have never seen my niece, except in photo-
graphs,’ my uncle broke in quickly, with a note of anger.
‘I beg your pardon, dear friend, I passed her on the stair-
case last year when you were so ill. It is true I only saw her for
a moment, and your staircase is rather dark; but I saw well
enough to see how lovely she was. This young gentleman
has her beautiful eyes, and also this,’ she went on, tracing
a line with one finger across the lower part of her forehead.
‘Tell me,’ she asked my uncle, ‘is your niece Mme.——; is
her name the same as yours?’
‘He takes most after his father,’ muttered my uncle, who
was no more anxious to effect an introduction by proxy, in
repeating Mamma’s name aloud, than to bring the two to-
gether in the flesh. ‘He’s his father all over, and also like my
poor mother.’
‘I have not met his father, dear,’ said the lady in pink,
bowing her head slightly, ‘and I never saw your poor moth-
er. You will remember it was just after your great sorrow

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