"Yes, I took good notice, and she seemed to be on a very easy footing with him. I'll give him a week to think things o'er, but the marriage o' Christina Campbell and Sir Thomas Wynton is certain."
"We will not go quite that far yet, mother, but I think this evening's events warrant that presumption."
While this conversation was in progress, Christina was going upstairs, and her quick, strong steps were in singular contrast to the slow, inert movements of the Christina of a few years previous. At Theodora's bedroom door she paused irresolutely for a few moments, but finally tapped at it. Theodora herself answered the summons. She was in a long, white gown, and her face was white as the linen.
"Are you ill, Dora?" Christina asked.
"No, I am sleepy. Have you had a pleasant evening?"
"Yes. All went to my wish. Every honor was in my hand, but if you had been present honors would have been easy, if not entirely in your hand. It was kind of you to give me this free opportunity, and I feel sure I have won the game. Good-night."
"Good-night. You are looking unusually handsome."
"This dress is becoming. Good-night," and she went gaily away, timing her steps to the music of the last line of her conquering song:
"And the late Mistress Jean, is my Lady Cockpen,"
laughing softly to herself as she closed her door. For she knew that she had won Sir Thomas Wynton, and her sharp little bit of a soul had already caught a keen sight of the further triumphs awaiting her. She would travel, she would be presented at many courts, she would entertain splendidly at Wynton Castle, she would be kind to Theodora, and patronize and protect her and she would make the hearts of the Campbelton set sick with envy. So she went to sleep planning a future for herself, of the most stupendous self-pleasing.