“Why, Mr. Corway!” replied the maid, disengaging herself.
She spoke and acted quietly, while a bewitching smile shone in her eyes.
At that moment, unnoticed by them, a shadow suddenly darkened the doorway. It did not tarry long, and swiftly disappeared.
Unseen herself, Virginia had entered the conservatory, her footfalls as light as her joyous young heart, the happiest of the happy.
Hearing that voice, she had paused, then gently parted some leaves and—the smile died on her lips.
She stood for a moment like one transfixed, listening in an amazed wonder, then, undiscovered, she silently withdrew into deeper foliage.
“Why draw away from me, Hazel?” went on Corway.
“Because! You may not be sincere!” replied the girl, shyly.
“Not sincere? Hazel, from the first moment that I beheld you I felt that I stood in the presence of my fate.”
“But, Mr. Corway,”—she returned, with that provoking smile still lurking about the corners of her pretty mouth—“don’t you love any other?”