And presently here came Mrs. Godd in tier cloud of Olympian
beneficence; a large and ample lady, especially built for the role
of divinity. Peter felt suddenly awe-stricken. How had he dared come
here? Neither in the Hotel de Soto, with its many divinities, nor in
the palace of Nelse Ackerman, the king, had he felt such a sense of
his own lowliness as the sight of this calm, slow-moving great lady
inspired. She was the embodiment of opulence, she was "the real
thing." Despite the look of kindliness in her wide-open blue eyes,
she impressed him with a feeling of her overwhelming superiority. He
did not know it was his duty as a gentleman to rise from his chair
when a lady entered, but some instinct brought him to his feet and
caused him to stand blinking as she crossed to him from the opposite
end of the big room.
"How do you do?" she said in a low, full voice, gazing at him
steadily out of the kind, wide-open blue eyes. Peter stammered, "How
d-dy do, M--Mrs. Godd."
In truth, Peter was almost dumb with bewilderment. Could it really,
possibly be that this grand personage was a Red? One of the things
that had most offended him about all radicals was their noisiness,
their aggressiveness; but here was a grand serenity of looks and
manner, a soft, slow voice--here was beauty, too, a skin unlined,
despite middle years, and glowing with health and a fine cleanness.
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