It proved to be a
mere note, saying that at last he had found a house which seemed in
every respect suitable, and he wished Irene to go over it with him
as soon as possible; he would call for her at three o'clock.
"Remember," he added, "you dine with us. We are by ourselves."
She glanced at her father, as if to acquaint him with this news; but
the Doctor was deep in a leading-article, and she did not disturb
him. Eustace had correspondence of his own which engrossed him. No
one seemed disposed for talk this morning.
The letter which most interested her came from Helen Borisoff, who
was now at home, in Paris. It was the kind of letter that few people
are so fortunate as to receive nowadays, covering three sheets with
gaiety and good-nature, with glimpses of interesting social life and
many an amusing detail. Mrs. Borisoff was establishing herself for
the winter, which promised all sorts of good things yonder on the
Seine. She had met most of the friends she cared about, among whom
were men and women with far-echoing names. With her husband she was
on delightful terms; he had welcomed her charmingly; he wished her
to convey his respectful homage to the young English lady with whom
his wife had become _liee_, and the hope that at no distant time he
might make her acquaintance. After breakfast, Irene lingered over
this letter, which brightened her imagination. Paris shone luringly
as she read.
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