There was nothing small about Edith Towne. She knew fineness when she saw it, and she had a feeling of humility in the presence of little Lucy. “I think it was my fault as much as Del’s,” she stated. “I should never have said ‘Yes.’ People haven’t any right to marry who feel as we did.”
“Oh,” Lucy said rapturously, “how dear of you to say that. Miss Towne, I always knew you were—big. But I didn’t dream you were so beautiful.” Tears wet her cheeks. “You’re just—marvellous,” she said, wiping them away.
“No, I’m not.” Edith’s eyes were on the fire. “Normally, I am rather proud and—hateful. If you had come a week ago——” Her voice fell away into silence as she still stared at the fire.
Lucy looked at her curiously. “A week ago?”
Edith nodded. “Do you like fairy tales? Well, once there was a princess. And a page came and sang—under her window.” The fire purred and crackled. “And the princess—liked the song——”
“Oh,” said Lucy, under her breath.
“Well, that’s all,” said Edith; “I don’t know the end.” She stretched herself lazily. Her loose sleeves, floating away from her bare arms, gave the effect of wings. Lucy, looking at her, wondered how it had ever happened that Delafield could have turned his eyes from that rare beauty to her own undistinguished prettiness.
She stood up. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I came.”
“You’re not going to run away yet,” Edith told her. “I want you to have lunch with me. Upstairs. You must tell me all your plans.”
“I haven’t many. And I really oughtn’t to stay.”