“Stout heart!” said Diana, patting his arm.
Marcus found it necessary and expedient to pass the little woman again to see if she had recovered, and he found her asleep under her tiara. He would have passed on, but she awoke. “It’s so late, isn’t it? But they must enjoy themselves, mustn’t they?”
Marcus said it seemed imperative nowadays.
“You are a very lucky uncle,” said the little woman.
Again that curious feeling in the spine, like the running down of cold water, assailed Marcus. “I am,” he agreed.
“He’s so perfectly charming and delightful—”
“Who?” The feeling of flappiness changed to one of apprehension.
The little woman looked: Marcus’s eyes followed hers, and saw standing in the doorway a tall man, on whose arm rested the hand of a great personage. Up the stairs which were straight opposite the doorway came a figure in white—the radiant figure of a niece. In her face he thought was all the joy in the world, concentrated into one look. That look, he feared, was captured and kept by the younger of the two men. The elder man, with an amused gesture and a look of kind understanding, walked away.
“Her mother, all over again,” groaned Marcus.
As they drove home together—radiant niece, discomfited uncle—he said nothing, and she said: “You funny old thing.” Then there was a pause. She put out one slim foot (she had kicked off her satin shoe) and rested it on the seat opposite.