Lady Pen was looking straight at her cousin with the beautiful candid eyes that were so like his own. "Just for curiosity," she said slowly, "I'd dearly like to know if Meg Morton ever said anything to you about me—anything rather confidential—I won't be offended, I'd just like to know."
"About you?" Miles echoed in a puzzled voice.
"About my appearance, you know—my looks."
"I think she called you good-looking, like everybody else, but I don't remember that she was specially enthusiastic. To tell you the honest truth, Pen, we've had other things to talk about than you."
"Now listen, you two," said Lady Pen. "That little girl is straight. You won't understand, Miles, but Aunt Mary will. Meg Morton knew I was against her—about you, Miles—women always know these things. And yet she held her tongue when she could have said something true that I'd rather not have talked about. You'll hold your tongue, old chap, and so will Aunt
Mary. I've got her hair; got it on this minute. That's why she's such a croppy."
Lady Mary sat down on the nearest chair and sighed deeply.
"It's been a real satisfaction to me, this transformation, because I know where it came from."
Miles took his cousin's hand and kissed it. "If somebody had to have it, I'm glad it's you," he said.
"Yes, she's straight," Lady Pen repeated. "I don't believe there's many girls who would have kept quiet—not when the man they cared about was being got at. You may ring now, Aunt Mary. I'm through. Good night."