"I like him very much; you should hear that reticent Mr. St. Clair praise him. He is though, really, a manly, generous, straight-forward, determined fellow; just the reverse of Mr. Cobbe."
"Yes; well I hope it will come out all right for poor Mrs. Gower, though I had hoped that she and Buckingham would have made a match," he said musingly.
"So have I; but he has been too deliberate, a trait his German mother is to blame for; and he may have imagined there has been something between her and Mr. Cobbe. Now, hubby, I am just dying to know if Miss Crew has confided in you, and if there is anything worth a snap in her story."
"I cannot tell you just yet, dear; and, besides, we have not time; it is three-thirty, time for my little wife to dress."
On descending at four p.m., to her cheerful drawing-room, Mrs. Gower has so far conquered her feelings as to cause a casual observer to say, she is quite happy, and at ease; for her dark red gown is becoming, and she has compelled her mind to dwell only on the pleasurable excitement of a re-union with her old friend, Mr. Cole; wondering also what he will think of her new friend, Mr. Blair. The air, redolent of hyacinths and roses, tells her he is in the drawing-room; and the color deepens in her cheeks as her heart throbs faster.
He comes to meet her, from a table, piled with blossoms, which he is placing in Japanese and glass bowls.
"You will become bankrupt, Alec."
"Not while there are blossoms in the market, and you to accept them; I am a canny Scotchman, you know; you should always wear this gown," he says, quietly, pinning some roses near her chin.
"You said so of my old gold dress, you fickle man;" and, as she speaks, her eyes rest for a moment on his.
With a sigh, he returns to his task.