rell was in a sort of waking dream, a state of superlative happiness, unmarred as yet by phantoms from the shrouded past or misgivings as to the dim, uncertain future; past and future were for the time alike forgotten. One image dominated his mind,—the form and face of the fair young hostess moving among her guests as a queen amid her court, carrying her daintily poised head as though conscious of the twofold royal crown of womanhood and woman's love. One thought surged continuously through and through his brain,—that she was his, his by the sovereign right of love. Whatever courtesy he showed to others was for her sake, because they were her guests, her friends, and when unengaged he stationed himself in some quiet corner or dimly lighted alcove where, unobserved, he could watch her movements with their rhythmic grace or catch the music of her voice, the sight or sound thrilling him with joy so exquisite as to be akin to pain. The oft-repeated compliments of the crowd about him seemed to him empty, trite, meaningless; what could they know of her real beauty compared with himself who saw her through Love's eyes!
As he stood thus alone in a deep bay-window, shaded by giant palms, some one paused beside him.
"Our little débutante has surpassed herself to-night; she is fairest of the fair!"
Darrell turned to see at his side Walcott, faultlessly attired, elegant, nonchalant; a half-smile playing about his lips as through half-closed eyes he watched the dancers. Instantly all the antagonism in Darrell's nature rose against the man; strive as he might, he was powerless to subdue it. There was no trace of it in his voice, however, as he answered, quietly,—
"Miss Underwood certainly looks very beautiful to-night."
"She has matured marvellously of late," continued the other, in low, pleasant tones; "her development within the past few weeks has been remarkable. But that is to be expected in women of her style, and this is but the beginning. Mark my words, Mr. Darrell," Walcott faced his auditor with a smile, "Miss Underwood's beauty to-night is but the pale shining of a taper beside one of those lights yonder, compared with what it will be a few years hence; are you aware of that?"
"It had not occurred to me," Darrell replied, with studied calmness, for the conversation was becoming distasteful to him.
"Look at her now!" said Walcott, bowing and smiling as Kate floated past them, but regarding her with a scrutiny that aroused Darrell's quick resentment; "very fair, very lovely, I admit, but a trifle too slender; a little too colorless, too neutral, as it were! A few years will change all that. You will see her a woman of magnificent proportions and with the cold, neutral tints replaced by warmth and color. I have made a study of women, and I know that class well. Five or ten years from now she will be simply superb, and at the age when ordinary women lose their power to charm she will only be in the zenith of her beauty."
The look and tone accompanying the words filled Darrell with indignation and disgust.