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Page 16
In the meantime, Florence growing fatigued, or disinclined to dance
longer with Dynecourt, stops abruptly near the door of a conservatory,
and, leaning against the framework, gazes with listless interest at the
busy scene around.
"You are tired. Will you rest for awhile?" asks Arthur politely; and,
as she bends her head in cold consent, he leads her to a cushioned seat
that is placed almost opposite to the door-way, and from which the
ball-room and what is passing within it are distinctly visible.
Sinking down amongst the blue-satin cushions of the seat he has pointed
out to her, Florence sighs softly, and lets her thoughts run, half
sadly, half gladly, upon her late interview with Sir Adrian. At least,
if he has guessed her secret, she knows now that he does not despise
her. There was no trace of contempt in the gentleness, the tenderness of
his manner. And how kindly he had told her of the intended change in his
life! "Their paths would lie far asunder for the future," he had said,
or something tantamount to that. He spoke no doubt of his coming
marriage.
Then she begins to speculate dreamily upon the sort of woman who would
be happy enough to be his wife. She is still idly ruminating on this
point when her companion's voice brings her back to the present. She had
so far forgotten his existence in her day-dreaming that his words come
to her like a whisper from some other world, and occasion her an actual
shock.
"Your thoughtfulness renders me sad," he is saying impressively. "It
carries you to regions where I can not follow you."
To this she makes no reply, regarding him only with a calm questioning
glance that might well have daunted a better man. It only nerves him
however to even bolder words.
"The journey your thoughts have taken--has it been a pleasant one?" he
asks, smiling.
"I have come here for rest, not for conversation." There is undisguised
dislike in her tones. Still he is untouched by her scorn. He even grows
more defiant, as though determined to let her see that even her avowed
hatred can not subdue him.
"If you only knew," he goes on, with slow meaning, regarding her as he
speaks with critical admiration, "how surpassingly beautiful you look
to-night, you would perhaps understand in a degree the power you possess
over your fellow-creatures. In that altitude, with that slight touch of
scorn upon your lips, you seem a meet partner for a monarch."
She laughs a low contemptuous laugh, that even makes his blood run hotly
in his veins.
"And yet you have the boldness to offer yourself as an aspirant to my
favor?" she says. "In truth, sir, you value yourself highly!"
"Love will find the way!" he quotes quickly, though plainly disconcerted
by her merriment. "And in time I trust I shall have my reward."
"In time, I trust you will," she returns, in a tone impossible to
misconstrue.
At this point he deems it wise to change the subject; and, as he halts
rather lamely in his conversation, at a loss to find some topic that may
interest her or advance his cause, Sir Adrian and Dora pass by the door
of the conservatory.
Sir Adrian is smiling gayly at some little speech of Dora's, and Dora is
looking up at him with a bright expression in her blue eyes that tells
of the happiness she feels.
"Ah, I can not help thinking Adrian is doing very wisely," observes
Arthur Dynecourt, some evil genius at his elbow urging him to lie.
"Doing--what?" asks his companion, roused suddenly into full life and
interest.
"You pretend ignorance, no doubt"--smiling. "But one can see. Adrian's
marriage with Mrs. Talbot has been talked about for some time amongst
his intimates."
A clasp like ice seems to seize upon Miss Delmaine's heart as these
words drop from his lips. She restrains her emotion bravely, but his
lynx-eye reads her through and through.
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