usual.

"They were enchanted when I told them you were coming," Mr. Robinson
continued. "As for commiseration over my fall--not a word!"

The two men had conversed for some few minutes before the hostess and
her daughter came sweeping into the room; and, as he had half expected,
Wyndham found he knew them more or less vaguely by sight. Mrs. Robinson
was a tall dame, fully sixty, with gray hair, and a most amiable
expression; stately, even handsome, in her black silk dress with its
tasteful lace at the throat and wrists. The daughter who followed rather
shyly behind her gave Wyndham the impression that he was beholding the
most simple, homely person he had ever met; and this despite the
complexity of her costume, which seemed to be built up almost entirely
of old lace that lay over itself in thick folds and rich creamy masses.
Timidity of temperament and modesty to the verge of self-distrust were
at once suggested by the almost awkward constraint of her bearing and
the quiet, half-averted glance of her dark eyes. He could see that she
hardly dared look at him. He gallantly supposed that she was a year or
two younger than himself, and as he met her desperately friendly smile
(intended for him but hardly bestowed in his direction) with his
choicest bow, he received a further impression that was distinctly more
favourable than the first of unrelieved plainness. For, once his eye had
taken in her features, the artist in him was ready to do justice to her
throat and arms, which were really good: and her dark hair, her greatest
glory, lay in a superb coil, which, with a surprising touch of
coquetry, was set off by a velvet band and some lilies of the valley. It
was curious that the figure of Lady Betty should swim up before him just
then, as if to emphasise his real ideal of woman's beauty, and to make
him feel once for all how impossible it was ever to step down from that
standard. But he could not help smiling covertly at the thought that the
family were making such a serious business of so casual an
invitation--these toilettes were really so very much more elaborate than
anything he might conceivably have looked for; though at any rate it
reassured his pride in the fullest degree--evidently, his frank
admissions to Mr. Robinson notwithstanding, they were not taking him as
a poor devil of an artist, but were looking up to him with a perfect
appreciation of the respect that was his due.

Wyndham's presentation to the ladie