"How it sparkles!" she says, moving her hand gently to and fro so that the light falls upon it from different directions. "Thank you again, Guardy; you are always better to me than I deserve." She says this warmly, being desirous of removing all traces of her late hesitation, and quite oblivious of her former scruples. But the moment she leaves him she remembers them again, and, coming down-stairs with Lady Chetwoode's needle, and finding her alone, says, with a heightened color, "See what a charming present Sir Guy has brought me."
"Very pretty indeed," Lady Chetwoode says, examining the ring with interest. "Dear Guy has such taste, and he is always so thoughtful, ever thinking how to please some one. I am glad it has been you this time, pussy," kissing the girl's smiling lips as she bends over her. So that Miss Chesney, reassured by her auntie's kind words, goes up to dress for the reception of her cousin Archibald, with a clear and therefore happy conscience. Not for all the diamonds in Christendom would she have concealed even so small a secret as the acceptance of this ring from one whom she professes to love, and who she knows trusts in her.
CHAPTER XIV.
"Kate. I never saw a better fashioned gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable."
—Taming of the Shrew.
This dressing of Lilian for the undoing of her cousin is a wonderful affair, and occupies a considerable time. Not that she spends any of it in a dainty hesitation over the choice of the gown fated to work his overthrow; all that has been decided on long ago, and the fruit of many days' deep thought now lies upon her bed, bearing in its every fold—in each soft fall of lace—all the distinguishing marks that stamp the work of the inimitable Worth.
At length—nurse having admired and praised her to her heart's content, and given the last fond finishing touches to her toilet—Miss Chesney stands arrayed for conquest. She is dressed in a marvelous robe of black velvet—cut à la Princesse, simply fashioned, fitting à merveille,—being yet in mourning for her father. It is a little open at the throat, so that her neck—soft and fair as a child's—may be partly seen (looking all the whiter for the blackness that frames it in), and has the sleeves very tight and ending at the elbow, from which rich folds of Mechlin lace hang downward. Around her throat are a narrow band of black velvet and three little strings of pearls that once had been her mother's. In her amber hair a single white rose nestles sleepily.
Standing erect before her glass, she contemplates herself in silence,—marks the snowy loveliness of her neck and arms, her slender hands (on one of which Guy's ring is sparkling brilliantly), her rippling yellow hair in all its unstudied sleekness, the tender, exquisite face, rose-flushed, and, looking gladly upon it all,—for very love of it,—stoops forward and presses a kiss upon the delicate beauty that smiles back upon her from the mirror.