“Ruth, I didn’t dream of this! Please do not refer to it in any way. I would not have Comtesse Helène embarrassed for anything in the world. Promise, sis?”
“Sure, Jack, cross my heart! But, brother of mine, isn’t she all I said she was?”
John laid his arm affectionately about his sister’s shoulder. “She is all that, my dear, and more. Now, run off and be discreet. And—Ruth—it is my dearest wish that you and Helène—the Comtesse, you know—should be dear friends.”
“Oh! Does the wind blow from that quarter, Jack? I am so glad!” A lightning-like hug, an ethereal kiss—and she was off!
In the lounging room, later, John sat facing his mother. The breeze entering through the open Venetian windows relieved the noon heat, but failed to lighten the task he had before him. Many a time had he gone over this interview in his mind, always looking forward to it with exultation. And now, when the moment had arrived, he felt greatly ill-at-ease.
“Mother, dear—you may remember my telling you that I had met a lady whom I hoped to win—that she had been lost to me. Well, I have found her again. She is the Comtesse Rondell. I met her in New York yesterday, quite by chance—and I have won her. Mother, I am very happy. I want you to love her for my sake, though I know you will gladly embrace her for her own virtues.”
John had spoken very earnestly. Mrs. Morton looked at her “boy” in sheer astonishment. “John, my dearest boy—I don’t know what to say—it has come so unexpectedly! Of course, John, I will do my best—she certainly looks sweet. But, John....”
“Mother, you will love her and be proud of her when you see me the blessedest man in America.”
Mrs. Morton’s eyes filled with tears. “Your happiness, John, dear, is all I ask for.”
“Thank you, mother. And now will you do me a kindness? I have no ring to give Helène. Can you give me one of yours?”