She brushed all those other
thoughts away and banished firmly that dangerous kindness of manner
into which she had been drifting.
And he, on his part, felt a glow of keen pleasure When he realised
how the events of the day had gone in his favour. If not yet of
her world, he knew now that his becoming so would be hereafter
purely a matter of time. He looked up through the green leaves at
the blue sky, bedappled with white, fleecy clouds, and wondered
whether she guessed that his appearance here, his ownership of Iris,
the studious care with which he had placed himself in the hands of
a Seville Row tailor were all for her sake. It was true that she
had condescended to Bohemianism, that be had first met her as a
journalist, working for her living in a plain serge suit and a straw
hat. But he felt sure that this had been to a certain extent a whim
with her. He stole a sidelong glance at her - she was the
personification of daintiness from the black patent shoes showing
beneath the flouncing of her skirt, to the white hat with its
clusters of roses. Her foulard gown was as simple as genius could
make it, and she wore no ornaments, save a fine clasp to her
waistband of dull gold, quaintly fashioned, and the fine gold chain
around her neck, from which hung her racing-glasses.
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