Lady Charlotte Trefusis, Sarah's mother,
was elegant, penniless and a widow; Captain B. Trefusis, her husband,
had led the merriest of lives until a game of polo carried him
reluctantly from a delightful world and forced Lady Charlotte to
consider the problem of having a good time alone on nothing at all. But
it may be said that, on the whole, she succeeded. She was the
best-dressed widow in London, and went everywhere, but the little house
in March Square was the scene of a most strenuous campaign, every day
presenting its defeat or victory, and every minute of the day
threatening overwhelming disaster if something were not done
immediately. Lady Charlotte had the smallest feet and hands outside
China, a pile of golden hair above the face of a pink-and-white doll.
Staring from this face, however, were two of the loveliest, most
unscrupulous of eyes, and those eyes did more for Lady Charlotte's
precarious income than any other of her resources. She wore her
expensive clothes quite beautifully, and gave lovely little lunches and
dinners; no really merry house-party was complete without her.
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