"But I am so far from clever," faltered Emily.
The marquis turned in his driving-seat to look at her. It was really a very nice look he gave her. It made Emily's cheeks grow pink and her simple heart beat.
"You are the woman I want," he said. "You make me feel quite sentimental."
When they reached Mallowe, Emily had upon her finger the ruby which Lady Maria had graphically described as being "as big as a trouser button." It was, indeed, so big that she could scarcely wear her glove over it. She was still incredible, but she was blooming like a large rose. Lord Walderhurst had said so many "things" to her that she seemed to behold a new heaven and a new earth. She had been so swept off her feet that she had not really been allowed time to think, after that first gasp, of Lady Agatha.
When she reached her bedroom she almost returned to earth as she remembered it. Neither of them had dreamed of this—neither of them. What could she say to Lady Agatha? What would Lady Agatha say to her, though it had not been her fault? She had not dreamed that such a thing could be possible. How could she, oh, how could she?
She was standing in the middle of her room with clasped hands. There was a knock upon the door, and Lady Agatha herself came to her.
What had occurred? Something. It was to be seen in the girl's eyes, and in a certain delicate shyness in her manner.
"Something very nice has happened," she said.
"Something nice?" repeated Emily.
Lady Agatha sat down. The letter from Curzon Street was in her hand half unfolded.