She turned, her head held up haughtily. There was nothing to do but follow or make a scene, which was not to be thought of.
“And here is Lucie Aubry, the most queenlike girl in the room. You two look splendid on the floor. Ma’m’selle Lucie, will you take my rose?”
“Ma’m’selle Aubry does not need it. May I have the pleasure?” Laflamme placed himself between the two and led Lucie away.
[CHAPTER XV—GATHERING THISTLES]
“What happened?” asked André abruptly. “Were you ill, or—or offended?”
“I was dizzy and warm, that was all.”
“Renée,” he began presently, “that man is playing with you. He is endeavoring to win your affections, and he will go away soon and you will be left to get over it as best you may.”
“Get over what?” Her look and tone were so demure, so innocent, that he studied her in amaze.
“Why,” with some embarrassment, “if you care for him—and now I remember——”
A definite feeling that could hardly be called emotion swept over him. And he knew now he was cherishing a vague dream that some day she would love him.