"Has the gentleman had an accident?" inquired Sophie, still twinkling.
"He's stopped here--speaking to somebody--father, I believe; he's
coming in--there! do you hear?" cried Cornelia, turning round with large
eyes and her finger at her mouth, and speaking in a thrilling whisper.
The sound of the quick, irregular tread of Mr. Bressant, following the
professor into the study, was audible from below.
"Who can he be?" resumed she presently, as Sophie said nothing.
"If he's a gentleman, we don't need to know any more, do we?" replied
her sister, from behind her sewing.
"Well, he is one," rejoined Cornelia, uncertain whether she was being
made fun of or not. "He was dressed like one; not _bandboxy_, you know,
but nicely and easily; and he stands and moves well; and then his
face--"
"Is he handsome?" asked Sophie, as Cornelia paused.
"Oh! he has that refined look--I can't describe it--better than
handsome," said she, giving a little wave with her hand to carry out her
meaning.
"It's lucky he was so big," remarked Sophie, very innocently, "or you
might not have been able to see so much of him in such a little time."
"Sophie!" said Cornelia, after a silence of some moments, speaking with
tragic deliberation, "you're making fun of me; I think you're very
unkind.
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