CHAPTER LXIV.
CLAUDIA'S WOE
Sifting within the recess of the dormer window, soothed by the gathering darkness of the quiet, starlight night, and by the gentle cadences of Bee's low, melodious voice, as she sung her baby sister to sleep, Ishmael remained some little time longer, when suddenly Bee's song ceased, and he heard her exclamation of surprise:
"Claudia, you up here! and already dressed for dinner! How well you look! How rich that maize-colored brocade is! And how elegant that spray of diamonds in your hair! I never saw you wear it before! Is it a new purchase?"
"It is the viscount's present. I wear it this evening in his honor."
"How handsome you are, Lady Vincent! You know I do not often flatter, but really, Claudia, all the artist in me delights to contemplate you. I never saw you with such brilliant eyes, or such a beautiful color."
"Brilliant eyes! beautiful color! Ha! ha! ha! the first frenzy, I think! The last—well, it ought to be beautiful. I paid ten dollars a scruple for it at a wicked French shop in Broadway! And I have used the scruple unscrupulously!" she cried, with a bitter laugh as of self-scorn.
"Oh, Claudia—rouged!" said Bee, in a tone of surprise and pain.
"Yes, rouged and powdered! why not? Why should the face be true when the life is false! Oh, Bee," she suddenly broke forth in a wail of anguish; "lay that child down and listen to me! I must tell someone, or my heart will break!"
There was a movement, a low, muffling, hushing sound, that told the unwilling listener that Bee was putting her baby sister in the bed. Ishmael arose with the intention of leaving his room, and slipping out of hearing of the conversation that was not intended for his ears; but utterly overcome by the crowding emotions of his heart, he sank back in his chair.