"You going to be married! But to whom ?" The thing seemed too preposterous; and her mind had instantly flown to the name, Laura Highford, before her reason said, "How ridiculous--she is married already!"-- so she repeated again: "But to whom ?" "I am going to be married to a widow, a niece of Francis Markrute's; you know him." Lady Ethelrida nodded.

"She is the most wonderfully attractive creature you ever saw, Ethelrida, a type not like any one else.

You'll understand in a minute, when you see her.

She has stormy black eyes--no, they are not really black; they are slate color--and red hair, and a white face, and, by Jove! a figure! And do you know, my dear child, I believe I am awfully in love with her!" "You only 'believe,' Tristram! That sounds odd to be going to be married upon!" Lady Ethelrida could not help smiling.
He sipped his tea and then jumped up.

He was singularly restless to-day.
"She is the kind of woman a man would go perfectly mad about when he knew her well.