“I only wanted to tell her something,” said Janet, and then paused.
She was obviously very excited. She had the little quick movements of a girl. In her cream-tinted frock she looked like a mere girl. And she was beautiful in her maturity; a challenge to the world of males. As she stood there, rising from behind the wall, flushed, quivering, abandoned to an emotion and yet unconsciously dignified by that peculiar stateliness that never left her—as she stood there it seemed as if she really was offering a challenge.
“I’ll fetch Mag, if you like,” said Edwin.
“Well,” said Janet, lifting her chin proudly, “it isn’t a secret. Alicia’s engaged.” And pride was in every detail of her bearing.
“Well, I never!” Edwin exclaimed.
Mrs Hamps’s features resumed the full smile.
“Can you imagine it? I can’t! It seems only last week that she left school!”
And indeed it seemed only last week that Alicia was nothing but legs, gawkiness, blushes, and screwed-up shoulders. And now she was a destined bride. She had caught and enchanted a youth by her mysterious attractiveness. She had been caught and enchanted by the mysterious attractiveness of the male. She had known the dreadful anxiety that precedes the triumph, and the ecstasy of surrender. She had kissed as Janet had never kissed, and gazed as Janet had never gazed. She knew infinitely more than Janet. She had always been a child to Janet, but now Janet was the child. No wonder that Janet was excited.
“Might one ask who is the fortunate young gentleman?” Mrs Hamps dulcetly inquired.
“It’s Harry Hesketh, from Oldcastle... You’ve met him here,” she added, glancing at Edwin.