‘No, he is John, my godson.’
‘John! You might as well be called Man! It is no name at all. That Arthur should have gone and married a wife called Violet!!’
Meanwhile Violet was wondering over the honour she had received, caressing the gift, and thinking of the hopes that had faded over it till patience had done her perfect work. She did not remember her other present till she heard sounds betokening the return of the riders. She placed it on her head, and behold! the cheeks had no more than their own roseate tinting, and she was beginning to hope Arthur would be pleased, when she became aware of certain dark eyes and a handsome face set in jet-black hair, presenting itself over her shoulder in the long glass.
‘You little piece of vanity! studying yourself in the glass, so that you never heard me come in? Well, you have done it to some purpose. Where did you get that thing?’
‘John brought it from Madeira.’
‘I did not think he had so much taste. Where have you bottled it up all this time!’
‘He forgot it till there was an opportunity for wearing it. Is it not pretty? And this is your silk, do you see?’
‘Very pretty, that’s the real thing. I am glad to find you in good trim. I was afraid Theodora had taken you too far, and the heat would knock you up, and the boy would roar till you were all manner of colours.’
‘I was hot and tired, but John invited me into his nice cool room, and only think! he showed me Helen’s picture.’
‘He has one, has he? She was nothing to look at; just like Percy—you know he is come?’