“Too late,” Elizabeth said. She clasped her hands to her breast. “If I could be assured that this is no Immolation upon the Altar of Sisterly Love!”
“If you wish to know what I think,” said Charlotte, “Horry is very well pleased with herself.”
Horatia, opening the door into the withdrawing-room, found her mother actually upon her feet, the smelling-salts lying forgotten on an ormolu table by the fire. In the middle of the room Rule was standing, watching the door, one hand, with a great square sapphire glowing on it, resting on a chair-back.
He looked very much more magnificent and unapproachable in blue velvet and gold lacing than he had seemed in his riding habit, and for a moment Horatia surveyed him rather doubtfully. Then she saw him smile and was reassured.
Lady Winwood swam towards her and embraced her. “My dearest!” she said, apparently overcome. “My lord, let my treasured child answer you with her own lips. Horatia love, Lord Rule has done you the honour to request your hand in marriage.”
“I t-told you he was going to, M-mama!” said Horatia incorrigibly.
“Horatia—I beg of you!” implored the long-suffering lady. “Your curtsy, my love!”
Horatia sank obediently into a curtsy. The Earl took her hand, as she rose, and bowed deeply over it. He said, looking down at her with a laugh in his eyes: “Madam, may I keep this little hand?”
Lady Winwood heaved a tremulous sigh, and wiped away a sympathetic tear with her handkerchief.
“P-pretty!” approved Horatia. “Indeed you m-may, sir. It is very handsome of you to give me the p-pleasure of having you p-propose for me.”