It did look as though Sir Richard Watson, if properly encouraged, and indemnified for earlier rebuffs, might still mean business.

As for Philip Buntingford, it was only Cynthia's vanity that had ever made her imagine him in love with her.

Lady Georgina scoffed at the notion.
These fragmentary reflections, and others like them were passing rapidly and disconnectedly through the mind of the elder sister, when her ear caught the sound of footsteps in the drive.

Drawing aside a corner of the muslin curtain beside her, which draped one of the French windows of the low room, she perceived the tall figure and scarcely perceptible limp of Lord Buntingford.

Cynthia too saw him, and ceased to lounge.