Anthony felt a slight annoyance at his mother: the tone of her voice was so indifferent and cold that it might easily have frightened and distressed his young cousin, who must be expecting a warmer welcome.

– Oh, dear auntie, don't worry! I slept the whole journey and did not awake until the gates of London. Besides, Philip, our coachman, knows how to drive a carriage without tiring me. Can Philip and the horses spend the night in your stables? He will be travelling back to Casterbridge at dawn tomorrow," Vivian said with a smile, as if she had not noticed her aunt's coldness.

– I'm sure he will. I will see that your coachman and your horses are fed and sheltered," she said.

"God almighty! This girl must have come from Paradise itself!" – thought Jane, listening intently to the conversation between her masters and their guest.

Before meeting Vivian, neither Lady Cranford, nor her son, nor Jane's maid, had even suspected that on sinful Earth one might meet a very real angel: so dazzlingly beautiful was Vivian Cowell, the daughter of the Greenhall mistress's fallen sister, a poor relation and an unwelcome guest.

The first thing that caught her eye was her red, wavy hair, so bright as if it blazed with wild flames. And despite the fact that this hair was tucked into a high modest hairstyle, a couple of locks came out from under the hairpin and fell on the snow-white, thin, surprisingly beautiful face of the girl, as if giving her interlocutors a hint of what fiery splendour awaited them when Vivian got rid of the hairstyle holding it back. Surprisingly, there were almost no freckles on her face, only a few red dots covering the delicate bridge of her nose and milky white cheeks with rather sharp cheekbones. Her plump red lips smiled the most charming smile imaginable. Small round gold clips shone softly in her beautifully shaped ears. But Vivian's most magnificent jewel were her eyes: green as emeralds, framed by long red lashes, they captivated the gaze, and the gently arched thick red eyebrows gave them mystery. Despite her dusty, outdated green cotton dress, her rather shabby white silk gloves, and her shoes, with their obvious bunched-up toes, Vivian Cowell was a delight to everyone in the mansion. Everyone except Lady Cranford.

Anthony never took his eyes off his cousin, and it worried and even frightened his mother. What if her niece turned her son's head? What if he wanted to make Vivian his wife? It must not happen! He is to be matched with one of the wealthy heiresses of London nobility!

The heart of the one whom Vivian called "dear auntie" was filled with vexation and dislike for her "dear niece." How dare this person be so unheard ofly beautiful? What did she need this beauty for? What would she, Lady Cranford, do with all the suitors and admirers of this beauty with green, witch-like eyes?

"Not a bit like her mother! She must have inherited that awful red hair from her pauper father. Ah, Catherine, my foolish sister! If you had married the man our father chose to marry you, you and your children would have been close to me, but you chose to chase love and chose exile!" – This was the woman's thought, and she did not take her eyes off her beautiful niece.

But Lady Cranford was a lady for a reason: she hid her dislike and annoyance behind a false smile, and comforted herself with the thought that, no doubt, Vivian would be sold out of her hands on her first outing, as her aunt wished.

As for plain Jane, she was ready to follow Vivian to the ends of the earth, into fire or water, as soon as she saw the lady she had been fortunate enough to serve. From the moment the guest came into her sight, this angelic-looking girl became her idol. What was the cause of this adoration? Vivian's beauty? Her melodious voice? Her enchanting smile? Oh, no! The reason was simple: Jane's keen eye, which had seen the upper classes of London and England every day, recognised from the first glance at her guest that she was poor. Vivian's dress was simple, elegant, but poor, too poor by London standards. Jane's heart filled with sisterly love for this beautiful but alas, poor relative of the rich and noble Dowager Countess Lady Cranford, a woman like an ice statue.