But Mrs. Cartwright was talking pleasantly on about the journey to Bordeaux; about the forest of Les Pins, the air of it....
"Such a becoming place, too," she laughed. "Makes you feel well; look well. May I make a personal remark, Miss Howel-Jones? You yourself are getting twice as pretty as when you came here."
"Oh, no," protested the enraptured girl. "No one could—no one has ever called me pretty!"
"No? But they will. Perhaps you are only just growing up to it," said Mrs. Cartwright with a very kind glance into the face opposite to her. "So many people make a virtue of blurting out unpleasant truths; why shouldn't one tell the truths that aren't unpleasant? Today (I saw it when you came in) you are quite lovely. You look as if a charm had touched you."
Little Olwen's whole heart went suddenly out in emotion and gratitude towards the woman who had said this thing.
Only the very young can realize how much they mean—the very first compliments to the very young girl! Especially to the very young girl in Love; she who feels the special need of beauty, the special need of encouragement to think herself beautiful.
And now here was a clever woman (who knew what men admired, and who had seen so many lovely people) pronouncing her, Olwen, to be "quite lovely."
Oh, Event!
As she went up after luncheon to her room—the replica of her Uncle's study, with its parquet floor and high balconied window—she felt there was nothing she could not have done for this Mrs. Cartwright.