“You don’t do Christine justice,” he had answered, “if you think she would do that.”

His sister did not reply.  She thought it would have been doing the girl injustice to suppose that she would do anything else.

They were still sitting about the tea-table at a quarter to seven, when Christine and Mrs. Almar rose simultaneously.  It was almost time for the arrival of Riatt, and neither had any fancy for meeting him save at her best—­in all the panoply of evening dress.

“We’re not dining till a quarter past eight, my dears,” said Mrs. Ussher.

Both ladies thought they would lie down before dinner.  And here chance took a hand.  Riatt’s train was late, whereas Christine’s clock was fast.  And so it happened that she came downstairs just as he was coming up.

There had been no one to greet him.  He was told by the butler that Mrs. Ussher was dressing, that dinner would be in fifteen minutes; he started to bound up the stairs, following the footman with his bags, when suddenly looking up the broad flight he saw a blond vision in white and pearls coming slowly down.  He hoped that his lower jaw hadn’t fallen, but she really was extraordinarily beautiful; and he could not help slowing down a little.  She stopped, with her hand on the banisters, like Louise of Prussia.

“Oh, you’re Mr. Riatt,” she said, very gently.  “You know you’re most awfully late.”

“I wish,” he said, “that I were wise enough to be able to say:  ’Oh, you’re Miss ——­’”

“I might be a Mrs.”

“Oh, I hope not,” he answered.  “Are you?”

She smiled.

“You’ll know as soon as you come down to dinner.”

“I shall be quick about dressing.”

He went on up, and she pursued her slow progress down.  She felt that her future had been settled by those few seconds on the stairs.

“He will do admirably,” she said to herself, and a smile like that of a sleeping infant curved her lips.  She felt calmly triumphant.  She had always said there was no reason why even a rich man should be absolutely impossible.  She recalled certain great fortunes with repulsive owners, which some of her friends had accepted.  For herself she had always intended to have everything—­love and money, too.  And here it was, almost in her hands.  There had been moments when she had been so discouraged that she had actually made up her mind to marry Ned Hickson.  How wise she had been to hold off!

She leant her arm on the mantel-piece and studied herself in the mirror.  It was a Chinese painted mirror, and the tint of the glass was green and unbecoming, yet even this could not mar the dazzling reflection.  The only object on which she looked with dissatisfaction was her string of pearls; they were imitation.  She thought she would have emeralds; and she heard clearly in her own inner ear this sentence:  “Yes, that is young Mrs. Max Riatt; is she not very beautiful in her emeralds!”