“And I’ve got lots of clothes for you. You must come and see them. Mrs. Southgate has laid them all out in your bedroom.”
“You are a dear,” she said, and kissed him.
His method had been simple. He had written to London, explaining that he required a complete outfit, and giving a description of the lady. It was not the first time, and the articles had arrived by return. He had a wealth of faults, but always paid his debts; it was a peculiarity of the family.
Carlotta was delighted; what a child she was. She had worn the school costume, sombre and uninteresting, so long that the sight of all these lovely things made her joyous.
Desmond sat and watched her with a glow of pleasure.
Nothing would satisfy her but to try them on, and she came to him to do up fastenings or hooks.
It was all joy and happiness, then quite suddenly she came and put her arms round his neck, and said:
“Where are we going to get married, here or in Italy?”
The question staggered him. There was nothing coaxing or challenging in the voice, and the question was asked so simply, as though she was asking where they were going to dine.
Her great dark innocent eyes looked at him, and a wave of pity, and something as near remorse as he was capable of, touched him.