She was the daughter of a wealthy landowner, who always spent his holidays in Rafiel.

She and her very beautiful, very superior mother had been seen on many occasions by the Coles driving about the Glebeshire roads in a fine and languid manner, a manner to which the Coles knew, very well, they themselves could never attain.

Then Mrs.Cole had called, and Mrs.Le Page and Charlotte had come to tea at Cow Farm.

This had been a year ago, when Jeremy had been only seven; nevertheless, he had been present during the first part of the ceremony, and Charlotte had struck him as entirely amazing.
He had simply gazed at her with his mouth open, forgetting all his good manners.

She was at this time nine or ten years of age but very small and, as they say of the most modern kind of doll, "perfect in every particular." She had wonderful hair of a bright rippling gold; her cheeks were pink and her eyes were blue, and she was so beautifully dressed that you could not take in details but must simply surrender yourself to a cloudy film of white or blue, with everything so perfectly in its place that it seemed to the rough and ready Jeremy quite unearthly.