The parcel was delivered to him; but to his utter disappointment, it was a parcel FOR, not FROM Miss Nugent.

It contained merely an odd volume of some book of Miss Nugent's which Mrs.Petito said she had put up along with her things IN A MISTAKE, and she thought it her duty to return it by the next opportunity of a safe conveyance.
Whilst Lord Colambre, to comfort himself for his disappointment, was fixing his eyes upon Miss Nugent's name, written by her own hand, in the first leaf of the book, the door opened, and the figure of an interesting-looking woman, in deep mourning, appeared--appeared for one moment, and retired.
'Only my Lord Colambre, about a parcel I was bringing for him from England, my lady--my Lady Isabel, my lord,' said Mrs.Petito.

Whilst Mrs.Petito was saying this, the entrance and retreat had been made, and made with such dignity, grace, and modesty; with such innocence, dove-like eyes had been raised upon him, fixed and withdrawn; with such a gracious bend the Lady Isabel had bowed to him as she retired; with such a smile, and with so soft a voice, had repeated 'Lord Colambre!' that his lordship, though well aware that all this was mere acting, could not help saying to himself as he left the house: 'It is a pity it is only acting.

There is certainly something very engaging in this woman.

It is a pity she is an actress.