“But, dearest,” remonstrated Lilias, gently, “you are Trafford’s wife, the duke’s daughter, and, of course, the mistress of the house. You must take the lead; and how well you will do it!” she added, admiringly.
Esmeralda turned and looked at her curiously.
“I will not, Lilias,” she said. “You—you do not know. I mean”—she faltered—“I would rather not. You shall be the mistress at Belfayre, as you always have been. Do you think I would supplant you and take your place? Why,” she forced a laugh, “I could not, if I tried. I should not know what to do, what to order. No, you must be the mistress.”
Lilias shook her head smilingly.
“That would not be right, dear,” she said, quietly. “You must be the châtelaine for the future; I will be your obedient lieutenant, if you like, but you must be the chief and the mistress. Do you think I could presume to take charge of Belfayre now that Trafford has a wife?”
Esmeralda felt an almost irresistible impulse to exclaim, “I am Trafford’s wife only in name!”—to unburden her heart of its secret and its misery to this gentle, loving girl, whose very gentleness and affection had helped to mislead Esmeralda—but she remembered her promise of secrecy to Trafford and closed her lips tightly.
Lilias, suspecting nothing of the truth, remained with her for a little while, then went away to send Barker.
All the while she was dressing, Esmeralda was thinking of Lady Ada’s presence, and her heart ached and burned with the emotion which she scarcely recognized as jealousy. The woman whom Trafford loved was in the same house with them! The thought brought the hot tears to Esmeralda’s eyes. How long would she stay? Would she and Trafford be much together? How should she—Esmeralda—endure the presence of her rival under the same roof and make no sign? Her heart ached with apprehension, then burned with a kind of defiance.
She looked in the glass. Lady Ada was a beautiful woman; but she—Esmeralda—well, she had been told often enough that she was beautiful, also. Was she to show the white feather in the presence of her rival? A flame of the old Three Star spirit rose once within her bosom, and for the first time since her wedding she displayed some interest in her dress.
Barker was delighted, and pondered over the innumerable costumes, with her finger to her chin, until they decided upon one which Barker considered most suitable.