She
was a flamboyant lady, with astonishing black eyes, a too transparent
white dress, over which was slung a small black mantilla, a scarlet hat
and parasol, and a startling fan of the same color. Both before and
after her greeting of Madame d'Estrees--whom she called her "cherie" and
her "belle Marguerite"--she created a whirlwind in the
salon. She was
noisy, rude, and false; it could only be said on the other side that she
was handsome--for those who admired the kind of thing; and famous--more
or less. The intimacy of the party was broken up by her, for wherever
she was she brought uproar, and it was impossible to forget her. And
this uneasy attention which she compelled was at its height when the
door was once more thrown open for the entrance of Lady Kitty Ashe.
"Ah, my darling Kitty!" cried Madame d'Estrees, rising in a soft
enthusiasm.
Kitty came in slowly, holding herself very erect, a delicate and
distinguished figure, in her deep mourning. She frowned as she saw the
crowd in the room.
"I'll come another time!" she said, hastily, to her mother, beginning to
retreat.
"Oh, Kitty!" cried Madame d'Estrees, in distress, holding her fast.
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