Miles agreed; adding, “I am wondering if you are an angel in disguise.”
“In disguise? Is that quite kind?”
“Forgive me—when the gate of Heaven opens suddenly the light is blinding. You are a dear!” And he looked at her in a way that opened up a whole world of romance. If he should look at Diana to-morrow even as he had looked at an old woman to-day, Diana would possibly make a poor breakfast in the morning, but would be very happy some day.
At luncheon Mrs. Sloane and Miles were the object of a certain amount of speculation, and a greater amount of interest. By most people they were voted grandmother and grandson—by others mother and son. Two people gave it up. One of them was a big young man with a shock of fair hair, and the other was the girl with him, who knew Mrs. Sloane had no son.
“Speak to her,” said Mr. Flueyn.
Rose was shy. If the pillars and mirrors had not dwarfed Miles, they frightened her. She was as appalled by their magnificence as she was by that of her new hat. Her marriage had been so hastily arranged that only that morning had she had time to send Mr. Maitland his bit of wedding cake, and she had altogether forgotten Mrs. Sloane’s.
“You look so pretty, darling,” urged her husband, “she won’t mind about the cake.”
And Rose, taking courage, walked across to the table where Mrs. Sloane and Miles Hastings sat. With a pang she realized the extreme order of this young man’s hair: then with a rush of loyalty she asked Mrs. Sloane if she might introduce her husband.
“My dear child, do, I shall be so glad to meet him.”
And Rose motioned him to come, and across the room he came, like a breeze ruffling the surface of a loch. Mrs. Sloane felt braced at his approach, and, though suffering acutely under the force of his handshake, smiled bravely. To his question, What did she think of the wife? she answered that she thought her radiantly pretty. To the question, What did she think of the hat? she less truthfully vowed it charming. To his account of how and why the marriage had been hastened on, she lent an interested attention, and when he and Rose had been made thoroughly happy by her charming appreciation of everything, and the promise of a present to come, they left: Rose returning to say hurriedly that she was so sorry she had forgotten the cake. It was coming! She hoped Mrs. Sloane had not thought her rude. “I only sent Mr. Maitland’s to-day. I hope he won’t think me rude not having sent it at once. He of all people in the world—I should never forget.”