Chapter 11.12 - Shirley

And I cannot but secretly applaud the benevolent barbarian who had painted, another and larger apartment of Field Head, the drawing-room to wit, formerly also an oak-room, of a delicate pinky-white, thereby earning for himself the character of a Hun, but mightily enhancing the cheerfulness of that portion of his abode, and saving future housemaids a world of toil. The brown-panel parlour was furnished all in an old style, and with real old furniture. On each side of the high mantelpiece stood two antique chairs of oak, solid as sylvan thrones, and in one of these sat a lady. But if this were Miss Kieldar, she must have come of age at least some twenty years ago. She was of matronly form, and though she wore no cap, and possessed hair of quite an undimmed auburn, shading small and naturally young-looking features, she had no youthful aspect, nor apparently the wish to assume it. You could have wished her attire of a newer fashion. In a well-cut, well-made gown, hers would have been no uncomely presence. It puzzled you to guess why a garment of handsome materials should be arranged in such scanty folds, and devised after such an obsolete mode. You felt disposed to set down the wearer as somewhat eccentric at once. This lady received the visitors, with a mixture of ceremony and diffidence, quite English. No middle-aged matron who was not an Englishwoman could evince precisely the same manner. A manner so uncertain of herself, of her own merits, of her power to please, and yet so anxious to be proper, and if possible rather agreeable than otherwise. In the present instance, however, more embarrassment was shown than is usual, even with diffident Englishwomen. Miss Helston felt this, sympathised with the stranger, and knowing by experience what was good for the timid, took a seat quietly near her, and began to talk to her with a gentle ease, communicated for the moment by the presence of one less self-possessed than herself.