“In her own little room,” said Julian, smiling; “I will show you the way.” He led Kennedy up-stairs, and left him at the door; he well knew that her heart would be fluttering as much as his.
A light knock at the door, and a moment after they saw each other again.
She sat on the sofa, and the firelight flickered on the amethyst—his gift—which she wore on her white neck; and her bright eyes danced with tears and laughter, and her bosom heaved and fell as he clasped her to his breast and printed a long, long kiss upon her cheek.
In silence, more exquisite than speech, they gazed on each other; and as though her beauty were reflected on his own face, all trace of sorrow and shame fled like a cloud from his forehead; and who would not have said, looking upon the pair, that he was worthy of her, as she of him?
“My own Violet,” he said, “you are beautiful as a vision to-night.”
“Hush, flatterer!” and she placed her little hand upon his mouth:—no wonder that he seized and kissed it.
“And what a thrice-charming dress.”
“Ah, I meant you to admire it,” she said, laughing.
“‘And thinking, this will please him best,
She takes a ribbon or a rose,’”
he whispered to her.