Chapter 9

CHAPTER IX

THE two Misses Molyneux, this nobleman's sisters, came presently
to call upon her, and Isabel took a fancy to the young ladies,
who appeared to her to show a most original stamp. It is true
that when she described them to her cousin by that term he
declared that no epithet could be less applicable than this to
the two Misses Molyneux, since there were fifty thousand young
women in England who exactly resembled them. Deprived of this
advantage, however, Isabel's visitors retained that of an extreme
sweetness and shyness of demeanour, and of having, as she thought,
eyes like the balanced basins, the circles of "ornamental water,"
set, in parterres, among the geraniums.

"They're not morbid, at any rate, whatever they are," our heroine
said to herself; and she deemed this a great charm, for two or
three of the friends of her girlhood had been regrettably open to
the charge (they would have been so nice without it), to say
nothing of Isabel's having occasionally suspected it as a
tendency of her own. The Misses Molyneux were not in their first
youth, but they had bright, fresh complexions and something of
the smile of childhood. Yes, their eyes, which Isabel admired,
were round, quiet and contented, and their figures, also of a
generous roundness, were encased in sealskin jackets. Their
friendliness was great, so great that they were almost
embarrassed to show it; they seemed somewhat afraid of the young
lady from the other side of the world and rather looked than
spoke their good wishes. But they made it clear to her that they
hoped she would come to luncheon at Lockleigh, where they lived
with their brother, and then they might see her very, very often.
They wondered if she wouldn't come over some day, and sleep: they
were expecting some people on the twenty-ninth, so perhaps she
would come while the people were there.

"I'm afraid it isn't any one very remarkable," said the elder
sister; "but I dare say you'll take us as you find us."

"I shall find you delightful; I think you're enchanting just as
you are," replied Isabel, who often praised profusely.

Her visitors flushed, and her cousin told her, after they were
gone, that if she said such things to those poor girls they would
think she was in some wild, free manner practising on them: he
was sure it was the first time they had been called enchanting.

"I can't help it," Isabel answered. "I think it's lovely to be so
quiet and reasonable and satisfied. I should like to be like
that."

"Heaven forbid!" cried Ralph with ardour.

"I mean to try and imitate them," said Isabel. "I want very much
to see them at home."

She had this pleasure a few days later, when, with Ralph and his