If a mortal woman can ever
look like an angel, the fair, swiftly moving Antonia had at
that moment the angelic expression of joy and love; the
angelic unconsciousness of rapid and graceful movement; the
angelic atmosphere that was in itself a dream of paradise;
rose-tinted, divinely sweet and warm.
Dare saw her coming, and suddenly ceased speaking{.??} He was
in the midst of a sentence, but he forgot what he was saying.
He forgot where he was. He knew nothing, felt nothing, saw
nothing, heard nothing but Antonia. And yet he did not fall
at her feet, and kiss her hands and whisper delightful
extravagances; all of which things an Iberian lover would have
done, and felt and looked in the doing perfectly graceful and
natural.
Dare Grant only clasped both the pretty hands held out to him;
only said "Antonia! Antonia!" only looked at her with eyes
full of a loving question, which found its instant answer in
her own. In that moment they revealed to each other the
length and breadth, the height and the depth of their
affection. They had not thought of disguising it; they made
no attempt to do so; and Robert Worth needed not the
confession which, a few hours later, Grant thought it right to
make to him.
When they entered the house together, a happy, noisy group,
Rachela had left her chair and was going hurriedly upstairs to
tell the Senora her surmise; but Jack passed her with a bound,
and was at his mother's side before the heavy old woman had
comprehended his passing salutation.
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