Her fine nostrils were dilated and her breath not perfectly under control as she said: "How delightful this is!" a statement that was no more untrue than to say good-morning on a rainy day.
Most women in Mrs.Wayne's situation would at the moment have been acutely aware of the ink-spot.

That was one of Adelaide's assets, on which she perhaps unconsciously counted, that her mere appearance made nine people out of ten aware of their own physical imperfections.

But Mrs.Wayne was aware of nothing but Adelaide's great beauty as she sank into one of the armchairs with hardly a hint of exhaustion.
"Your son is a very charming person, Mrs.Wayne," she said.
Mrs.Wayne was standing by the mantelpiece, looking boyish and friendly; but now she suddenly grew grave, as if something serious had been said.
"Pete has something more unusual than charm," she said.
"But what could be more unusual ?" cried Adelaide, who wanted to add, "The only question is, does your wretched son possess it ?" But she didn't; she asked instead, with a tone of disarming sweetness, "Shall we be perfectly candid with each other ?" A quick gleam came into Mrs.Wayne's eyes.

"Not much," she seemed to say.
She had learned to distrust nothing so much as her own candor, and her interview with Mr.Lanley had put her specially on her guard.
"I hope you will be candid, Mrs.Farron," she said aloud, and for her this was the depth of dissimulation.
"Well, then," said Adelaide, "you and I are in about the same position, aren't we?
We are both willing that our children should marry, and we have no objection to offer to their choice except our own ignorance.

We both want time to judge.