Aunt Rosamund, also musical, so far as breeding would allow, stood for
a good deal to Gyp, who had built up about her a romantic story of love
wrecked by pride from a few words she had once let drop. She was a tall
and handsome woman, a year older than Winton, with a long, aristocratic
face, deep-blue, rather shining eyes, a gentlemanly manner, warm heart,
and one of those indescribable, not unmelodious drawls that one connects
with an unshakable sense of privilege. She, in turn, was very fond of
Gyp; and what passed within her mind, by no means devoid of shrewdness,
as to their real relationship, remained ever discreetly hidden. She was,
so far again as breeding would allow, something of a humanitarian and
rebel, loving horses and dogs, and hating cats, except when they had
four legs. The girl had just that softness which fascinates women who
perhaps might have been happier if they had been born men. Not that
Rosamund Winton was of an aggressive type--she merely had the resolute
"catch hold of your tail, old fellow" spirit so often found in
Englishwomen of the upper classes. A cheery soul, given to long coats
and waistcoats, stocks, and a crutch-handled stick, she--like her
brother--had "style," but more sense of humour--valuable in musical
circles! At her house, the girl was practically compelled to see fun
as well as merit in all those prodigies, haloed with hair and filled to
overflowing with music and themselves.
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