She played her part before the crowd
of bowing servants with that forgetfulness of mere bodily fatigue which
is expected of princesses and other great ladies. She swept up the broad
staircase, leaning on Paul's arm, with a carriage, a presence, a
dazzling wealth of beauty, which did not fail to impress the onlookers.
Whatever Etta may have failed to bring to Paul Howard Alexis as a wife,
she made him a matchless princess.
He led her straight through the drawing-room to the suite of rooms which
were hers. These consisted of an ante-room, a small drawing-room, and
her private apartments beyond.
Paul stopped in the drawing-room, looking round with a simple
satisfaction in all that had been done by his orders for Etta's comfort.
"These," he said, "are your rooms."
He was no adept at turning a neat phrase--at reeling off a pretty
honeymoon welcome. Perhaps he expected her to express delight, to come
to him, possibly, and kiss him, as some women would have done.
She looked round critically.
"Yes," she said, "they are very nice."
She crossed the room and drew aside the curtain that covered the
double-latticed windows. The room was so warm that there was no rime on
the panes. She gave a little shudder, and he went to her side, putting
his strong, quiet arm around her.
Below them, stretching away beneath the brilliant moonlight, lay the
country that was his inheritance, an estate as large as a large English
county.
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