Paddy smoothed her lace and went downstairs a little thoughtfully, to see if Jack had come across yet from the rectory.
She found him standing in the hall, and when he saw her he exclaimed, “Is that you, Paddy?—is that really you?”
“Yes,” with a little nod, “it’s really me. You’ve always been at great pains to impress upon me that I’m hopelessly plain, Jack. Perhaps, now, you’ll have the politeness to own you were wrong,” and she looked up at him with her brilliant smile.
“I don’t somehow feel sure that it’s you yet, though,” he answered. “Where did you get all that hair from?”
“It’s been there all along, but I couldn’t be bothered to do it properly, so to-night Eileen did it.”
“Isn’t she dressed yet?”
“No; so I took the opportunity of coming down to be admired before I am outshone.” She tripped across the hall and stood where the full light of the lamps shone upon her, throwing back her small head triumphantly, and unconsciously striking an attitude full of grace and piquancy.
There was a dark wainscoting round the hall, and Jack saw with no small surprise that, thrown into relief by the dark background, her dainty dress becoming her perfectly, she formed a really lovely picture. His admiration showed in his eyes, and suddenly a beautiful flush spread over her somewhat colourless cheeks.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever seen anything in me but a harum-scarum tom-boy, isn’t it, Jack?” she said, and there was an unaccountable note of wistfulness in her tone. “Look again—Eileen will be here directly, and then you will forget.”
A light footstep sounded at the top of the stairs, and instantly she dashed her hand across her eyes as if to drive away some unwelcome recollection, and laughing gayly, called: