"You are well," she said, "I can see that, and happy. So you should be with such a charming wife. Please present me to her."
Dolores wanted no presentation; I think she loved the dear old lady at the very first sight. She went to her and gave her both her hands, and the Comtesse drew her face down to hers and kissed her.
"Your good husband did me a great service once, my dear," she said, "perhaps the greatest service a man can do a woman."
Dolores looked down at her wonderingly, and then at me.
"I wish I could tell you what it was, my dear," she continued, "but it is a secret. Still, perhaps your husband will tell you, when I have told him. I do not think that he realised the great benefit he did me at the time, for the good reason that he did not know its extent."
Dolores nodded her head and smiled, but I am sure she did not understand. How should she? I did not understand myself.
Our hostess, the nun, stood looking from one to the other of us with a smile on her face of that fixity which denoted that she did not understand a single word of what we were talking about.
Madame la Comtesse noted her isolation at once.
"Pray forgive me, chère mère," she said, breaking into French, which she pronounced with a very charming accent. "Mr. Anstruther and I are old friends. I meet madame, his wife, for the first time today."
In voluble language the Reverend Mother expressed her gratification at so happy a re-union, and in the midst of her compliments a nun arrived to say that déjeuner was served.