“You never looked lovelier—except when we were married. You nearly knocked me over then.”
“What a pity I can’t wear a wedding-veil on all state occasions.”
“I have a suspicion that as you are a bride you should wear white for a time.”
“All my day summer frocks are white, and I simply won’t wear it at night. I shall take full advantage of the fact that I am an American.”
She wore a wonderful gown of flame-coloured gauze, more golden than red, and so full of shimmer and sheen, that she had reflected, with some malice, it would outblaze all of Lady Barnstaple’s jewels, and had concluded to wear none.
“To-morrow and the next day I am going out with the other men, and you are coming to luncheon with us on the moor—at least Emmy and the others generally come when the weather is fine; but on Sunday I’ll show you over the Abbey. I’d like to do it myself, but I’m afraid we can’t get into the state bedrooms until the guests are gone.”
“Are they in the rooms that kings and queens and all the rest have slept in?”
“You are improving. How is it you didn’t say ‘kings and queens and things’? I’m afraid they are. This house is all corridors and rooms for entertaining and boudoirs; there are not more than twenty-five bedrooms. Here we are.”
They entered a small room furnished as a study, and Lord Barnstaple entered from the adjoining bedroom almost immediately. He looked rather more impassive and rather more cynical, but hardly ten years older. His monocle might never have been removed. Somewhat to Lee’s surprise, he not only kissed her, but shook her warmly by the hand.
“So another American is my fate, after all,” he said. “You see, I suspected as much the day I left. Have you ever had hysterics?”