Mary
had never seen her so soft and sweet. She was a different woman, and
even her expression was changed. The girl could not help remembering
what Apollonia had said about the "witch-eyes"; but she thought the
Italian would not have found a likeness to the terrible aunt could she
now have seen Lady Dauntrey for the first time. Mary was glad of the
change for Lord Dauntrey's sake, because, though he was weak, perhaps
unworthy, she pitied him with a pity akin to pain.
When Apollonia came back to say that all was ready for the night, the
three followed her up the wide and beautifully designed marble staircase
which led to the first and second stories.
There was no question of choice in apportioning the three "best rooms,"
prepared for occupation, because two adjoined each other, with a door
between; and these suggested themselves naturally for Lord and Lady
Dauntrey. The third and smaller room was at a distance, and had only one
door, which opened to the hall; but there was a great French window
leading to a balcony and evidently looking southward, over the slopes of
the garden down to the sea.
"This was the room the poor Captain loved," Apollonia announced;
"therefore it is right the Signorina should have it for her own. He
hoped she might choose it, I know. Sometimes he spent a night here,
toward the last. Perhaps he can see the Signorina at this moment, and if
he can, I am sure he is very happy."
Had there been a possibility of changing from that room to any other in
the house, even the worst and meanest, Mary would have changed gladly;
but she could not take one of the rooms she had given the Dauntreys; and
to order another got ready would have seemed heartless to Apollonia,
whose quick intuition would have told her the reason.
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