“We’re not dining till a quarter past eight, my dears,” said Mrs. Ussher.
Both ladies thought they would lie down before dinner. And here chance took a hand. Riatt’s train was late, whereas Christine’s clock was fast. And so it happened that she came downstairs just as he was coming up.
There had been no one to greet him. He was told by the butler that Mrs. Ussher was dressing, that dinner would be in fifteen minutes; he started to bound up the stairs, following the footman with his bags, when suddenly looking up the broad flight he saw a blond vision in white and pearls coming slowly down. He hoped that his lower jaw hadn’t fallen, but she really was extraordinarily beautiful; and he could not help slowing down a little. She stopped, with her hand on the banisters, like Louise of Prussia.
“Oh, you’re Mr. Riatt,” she said, very gently. “You know you’re most awfully late.”
“I wish,” he said, “that I were wise enough to be able to say: ‘Oh, you’re Miss ——’”
“I might be a Mrs.”
“Oh, I hope not,” he answered. “Are you?”
She smiled.
“You’ll know as soon as you come down to dinner.”
“I shall be quick about dressing.”