Nevertheless,
not knowing what else she could do, she followed, and found him leaning
over the railing, and looking about him with serene enjoyment. The
clouds had been mostly dispersed; a fresh air moved in the damp garden;
and Cornelia was soon aware that the mosquitoes were abroad. Her
muslin-covered arms and shoulders began to suffer.
Bressant raised himself at her approach, and stood with one hand
against the railing, looking down upon her with a half-smile of interest
and satisfaction, which made Cornelia feel not so much like a human
being, as some rare natural curiosity which he was glad to have the
opportunity of examining.
"You are one of the daughters?" said he, with the sudden scrutinizing
contraction of the eyebrows that often accompanied his questions. "There
are two, aren't there? Which one are you?"
"I'm Cornelia," replied she, provoked, as the words left her mouth, that
she had not said "Miss Valeyon." But the question had surprised her out
of her presence of mind, and the necessity of speaking loud, if nothing
else, hindered her from making the correction.
"Is the other any thing like you?" resumed he, after a moment's more
contemplation, which, spite of its directness, had in it a certain
element of unsophisticatedness that prevented it from seeming rude.
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