They both held themselves silent, her lips still parted.
Far off, they heard the rustle of skirts.

Then the owner of the skirts appeared in the doorway, which she almost filled, nearly concealing the figure of a very much smaller lady who accompanied her.
"My aunts!" Katharine murmured, under her breath.

Her tone had a hint of tragedy in it, but no less, Ralph thought, than the situation required.
She addressed the larger lady as Aunt Millicent; the smaller was Aunt Celia, Mrs.Milvain, who had lately undertaken the task of marrying Cyril to his wife.

Both ladies, but Mrs.Cosham (Aunt Millicent) in particular, had that look of heightened, smoothed, incarnadined existence which is proper to elderly ladies paying calls in London about five o'clock in the afternoon.

Portraits by Romney, seen through glass, have something of their pink, mellow look, their blooming softness, as of apricots hanging upon a red wall in the afternoon sun.