“What a pity,” Charles said, taking another cake.
“Why a pity?”
“Beautiful woman.”
“Oh, yes, everybody thinks so, till they know her.”
“I know her and I think she’s adorable.”
The word was startling from his lips. Charles, too, she exclaimed inwardly. Was Aunt Rose even to come between her and Charles?
“But of course”—he remembered his lesson—“you’re the most beautiful and the best woman in the world.”
“I’m not a woman at all,” she said angrily: “I’m a fiend.”
“Yes, to-day; but you won’t be to-morrow. You’ll feel different to-morrow.”
He had, she reflected, a gift of prophecy. “Yes, I shall,” she said softly, “I’m stupid. It will be all right to-morrow. I shan’t even be angry with Aunt Rose and you’ve been an angel to me. I shall never forget you.”