Raymond would
have been a happy man could he have sunk though the parquetry
floor. He trembled as he was led into the drawing-room, where
another gracious and overpowering creature rose to receive them.
"My aunt, Miss Christine Latimer," said Howard.
She was younger than Mrs. Quintan; a tall, fair woman of middle
age, with a fine figure, hair streaked with grey, and the remains
of what had once been extreme beauty. Her voice was the sweetest
Raymond had ever listened to, and his shyness and agitation wore
off as she began to speak to him. He was left a long while alone
with her, for Howard and his mother withdrew, excusing themselves
on the score of private matters. Christine Latimer was touched by
the forlorn quartermaster, who, in his nervousness, gripped his
chair with clenched hands and started when he was asked a
question. She soon got him past this stage of their acquaintance,
and, leading him on by gentle gradations to talk about himself,
even learned his whole story, and that in so unobtrusive a fashion
that he was hardly aware of his having told it to her.
"I am speaking to you as though I had known you all my life," he
said in an artless compliment. "I hope it is not very forward of
me. It is your fault for being so kind and good."
He was ecstatic when he left the house with Quintan.
"I didn't know there were such women in the world," he said. "So
noble, so winning and high-bred. It makes you understand history
to meet people like that.
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