She looked so exactly as she had looked before life had touched her.

There was very little change in her girlish figure; the child curve of her cheek had returned; the Jacqueminot rose glowed on it and her eyes were liquid wonders of trust.

She came to him holding out both hands.
"Thank you for coming," she said in her pretty way.

"Thank you, Lord Coombe, for coming." "Thank you, my child, for asking me to come," he answered and he feared that his voice was not wholly steady.
There was no mystic sign to be seen about her.

The only mystery was in her absolutely blooming health and naturalness and in the gentle and clear happiness of her voice and eyes.