He followed her to a large, bright, cheerful room—a room that seemed, at first sight, somewhat crowded with pictures and statues. His eyes were dazzled at first, for the sunbeams were very bright; then, as he grew accustomed to the light, he saw before him the tall, stately figure of a lady, dressed in deepest mourning. He was so completely unprepared for her wonderful beauty that he looked at her for a few minutes, quite unable to speak. Then his face flushed at his own awkwardness.
“I must apologize,” he said. “I was under the impression that Mrs. Payton was an elderly lady. You will think me very ill-bred—very stupid.”
Perhaps she had known the force of her own beauty in happier days, for a sad smile half rippled over her lips, then died away.
“I may plead guilty to the same mistake,” she said. “I thought Mr. Eyrle very much my senior.”
“So I am,” he replied.
“You are very kind to give yourself the trouble of calling upon me,” she continued. “I want your permission to have a large bay window made in the drawing-room; it is my favorite room; the view is very beautiful, but the window is small.”
“I can have no possible objection,” he replied, courteously.
“It will be expensive,” she said.
“That will not matter; it will serve to beautify the home.”
Again the same sad, faint smile.