"No, Mrs. Waldershare."
As she spoke a large open carriage bowled along the hard white road. It contained the Blaines and their guest, who waved her fan to the pair, with a gesture signifying approval and valediction.
"What do you think of her?" asked Philip, abruptly, as the horses' hoofs died away in a distant clip-clop.
"I think she is beautiful," answered Angel, in a voice that carried sincerity in its expression; "there can be but one opinion about that."
"I shouldn't have thought she was your style."
"Oh, yes, I admire dark people."
"Thank you, Angel; that is one to me. But you did not approve of her as a child."
"No, I was prejudiced, and, of course, I was no judge; but now that—that——" she hesitated. She was going to add, "that I know her story——"
"That you have arrived at years of discretion or indiscretion," he supplemented.
"Yes, now that I have arrived at years of experience, I do not wonder that you adored her."