"How sweet it is to be remembered, Vaura, and it's a good likeness of
your dear uncle. And here is a gift from myself, a mere bagatelle, but
I hope you will like it," and she handed Vaura an acknowledgement from
Worth of an order for a ball-dress, to be at Haughton Hall on the 5th
January, 1878.
"Thanks, god-mother mine, your thoughts are always of some one other than of Alice Esmondet."
"Not at all, dear."
"I shall be glad to return to England now," and there was a tender light in Vaura's eyes; "that is, dear god-mother, if you have laid up a sufficient store of strength."
"I have, ma chere, and if the revelry at Haughton isn't too much, I shall be able not only to stand, but enjoy the season; I feel very strong, and had I had a happy life—I mean, dear, had I married where my heart was—all would have been right; this 'eating out the heart alone' is not good for one. I have taken all the tricks I could, and made the most of the cards in my hand, but they have not been to my liking."
"My hand shall follow my heart," said Vaura, earnestly; "how I wish yours had, dear."
"Yes, it has been hard for me; but Fate, the dealer, is giving you good cards."
"How think you, godmother; is the game ours?"
"You will win."
"How did you know?" she said, softly, coming over to Lady Esmondet, and stooping to kiss her.