Ian was just going to steal away and leave them to their joy, it was so pure, so unalloyed, when Aline suddenly bethought herself of him and leaving little Joan she rushed forward, seized his hand with both her own and pressed it to her lips. “It was you who thought out all this; oh, you are good to me.”
She lifted up her face and he printed a kiss on her forehead. “No, princess; you remember my quotation from Homer. It is you that are good to me. I owe you everything—I do not mean mere physical life—that is nothing—nothing.”
The guests were to arrive at what a later age would have deemed the very early hour of eleven o’clock, so after breakfast Ian suggested that Aline should go upstairs and get ready.
“But I am ready,” she said.
“You cannot appear like that,” said Ian. “You must get Shiona to tidy you up,” he said with assumed severity.
“But I have nothing better than this,” she answered, just a little wistfully.
“Oh, yes, Shiona has some kind of a thing that will look better for to-day. Run along with her and take Joan; it can be an apprentice lesson for her.”
When Aline reached her room she was lost in amazement at the things that had been prepared for her and was charmed with them all. Shiona helped her to dress and Joan folded up the things she took off and put them away.
The linen was of the very finest quality that French looms could produce, smoother to the touch than anything she had ever worn, and adorned with bands of tela tirata. There was a pair of the fine silk hose that had recently been introduced into Britain, of a beautiful blue, somewhat lighter than those she had lost, and with white clocks. The broad toed shoes were of white kid, with blue satin showing through the slashes, and a large real sapphire set in silver on each shoe.