“If you please,” said Christina, stiffly. “I shall not encourage many visits from Sacha,” she said to herself, as her cab rolled homeward again.
She was, of course, thinking of the future, of those days when she would be queen again at Sunstead—queen this time, with a real king.
There never came even the shadow of a doubt across her mind as to the fulfillment of this dream.
Valentine’s changed attitude with her since her widowhood was too marked to permit of a doubt, and Christina chafed inwardly at the long months of regulation mourning which must, of course, ensue before Valentine would speak to her, and tell her of his love.
She found that Sacha had been rightly informed, and that Valentine was with her mother when she arrived.
She went to join them with her sweetest, most pathetic look.
Mrs. Pennington and Valentine were sitting hand in hand as she entered, nor did they change their position at her coming.
Christina stood in the doorway, and paused a moment. There was a wild beating at her heart; though she had built on a triumph, she had not tasted the sweetness of this triumph till now. Here, in this very room, where he had flung scorn and hard words at her, he would kneel at her feet, her slave and her lover, for Christina, looking at him, and reading the new and radiant expression on his face, never hesitated to set down this change in him to the fact that he had unburdened his heart to her mother, and they had been talking over his happiness together when she should be his wife.
Mrs. Pennington saw Christina first.
“Chrissie, dear, you have come at a good moment. Mr. Ambleton—Val, has brought me very sweet news. It is the happiest news I have had for many a day.”