A young man was standing before the Baroness, blushing a good deal, laughing a little, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other--a slim, mild-faced young man, with neatly-arranged features, like those of Mr. Wentworth. Two other gentlemen, behind him, had risen from their seats, and a little apart, near one of the windows, stood a remarkably pretty young girl. The young girl was knitting a stocking; but, while her fingers quickly moved, she looked with wide, brilliant eyes at the Baroness.
"And what is your son's name?" said Eugenia, smiling at the young man.
"My name is Clifford Wentworth, ma'am," he said in a tremulous voice.
"Why did n't you come out to meet me, Mr. Clifford Wentworth?" the Baroness demanded, with her beautiful smile.
"I did n't think you would want me," said the young man, slowly sidling about.
"One always wants a beau cousin,--if one has one! But if you are very nice to me in future I won't remember it against you."
And Madame M; auunster transferred her smile to the other persons present.
It rested first upon the candid countenance and long-skirted figure of Mr. Brand, whose eyes were intently fixed upon Mr. Wentworth, as if to beg him not to prolong an anomalous situation. Mr. Wentworth pronounced his name. Eugenia gave him a very charming glance, and then looked at the other gentleman.
This latter personage was a man of rather less than the usual stature and the usual weight, with a quick, observant, agreeable dark eye, a small quantity of thin dark hair, and a small mustache.
He had been standing with his hands in his pockets; and when Eugenia looked at him he took them out. But he did not, like Mr. Brand, look evasively and urgently at their host. He met Eugenia's eyes; he appeared to appreciate the privilege of meeting them.
Madame Munster instantly felt that he was, intrinsically, the most important person present. She was not unconscious that this impression was in some degree manifested in the little sympathetic nod with which she acknowledged Mr. Wentworth's announcement, "My cousin, Mr. Acton!"
"Your cousin--not mine?" said the Baroness.
"It only depends upon you," Mr. Acton declared, laughing.
The Baroness looked at him a moment, and noticed that he had very white teeth. "Let it depend upon your behavior," she said.
"I think I had better wait. I have cousins enough. Unless I can also claim relationship," she added, "with that charming young lady," and she pointed to the young girl at the window.
"That 's my sister," said Mr. Acton. And Gertrude Wentworth put her arm round the young girl and led her forward.
It was not, apparently, that she needed much leading.
She came toward the Baroness with a light, quick step, and with perfect self-possession, rolling her stocking round its needles. She had dark blue eyes and dark brown hair; she was wonderfully pretty.
Eugenia kissed her, as she had kissed the other young women, and then held her off a little, looking at her. "Now this is quite another type," she said; she pronounced the word in the French manner.
"This is a different outline, my uncle, a different character, from that of your own daughters. This, Felix," she went on, "is very much more what we have always thought of as the American type."
The young girl, during this exposition, was smiling askance at every one in turn, and at Felix out of turn. "I find only one type here!" cried Felix, laughing. "The type adorable!"