CHAPTER XXXV
THE SUN RISES ON THE YEAR
A brilliant house again, a brilliant crowd, the eve of the New Year, the death-bed of the Old. Just three hours more to wait.
But as Rosalie drove along, it was as if depression and the highest spirits fought one another for the mastery.
“The effects of wearing fine clothing,” said she, and laughed and sighed in a breath. “There is magic in these jewels, I feel certain. Oh! if I could but wear again my own precious moonstone talisman against all heaviness, instead of all this finery, that does its best to cramp my spirits, and half succeeds.”
On entering, she was almost immediately joined by Mr. Barringcourt. Never had he looked to Rosalie as to-night, never perhaps she to him. With a scrutiny which had become habitual, they eyed each other, and at last Rosalie said:
“Do you not think I was right in being covetous of such a lovely gown?”
“And the jewels?”
“Oh, they were an extra thrown in. I’d much rather have been without them. You should be kind, not lavish, Mr. Barringcourt. After an hour’s wearing they begin to assert their individuality and weight.”
“And at first you felt them light?”
“Being alive to their beauty, I was dead to their encumbrance.” And then again, this time seriously, she said: “But in truth I must acknowledge, perhaps, their weight cannot be very great, for I have the greatest wish to dance through every dance, and look to you to find me partners. I am not really altered because I stole behind the temple curtain; for one night it might be forgotten.”