“But Mr. Grandcourt will consider that you have already accepted him, in allowing him to come. His note tells you plainly enough that he is coming to make you an offer.”
“Very well; and I wish to have the pleasure of refusing him.”
Mrs. Davilow looked up in wonderment, but Gwendolen implied her wish not to be questioned further by saying,
“Put down that detestable needlework, and let us walk in the avenue. I am stifled.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
Desire has trimmed the sails, and Circumstance
Brings but the breeze to fill them.
While Grandcourt on his beautiful black Yarico, the groom behind him on Criterion, was taking the pleasant ride from Diplow to Offendene, Gwendolen was seated before the mirror while her mother gathered up the lengthy mass of light-brown hair which she had been carefully brushing.
“Only gather it up easily and make a coil, mamma,” said Gwendolen.
“Let me bring you some earrings, Gwen,” said Mrs. Davilow, when the hair was adjusted, and they were both looking at the reflection in the glass. It was impossible for them not to notice that the eyes looked brighter than they had done of late, that there seemed to be a shadow lifted from the face, leaving all the lines once more in their placid youthfulness. The mother drew some inference that made her voice rather cheerful. “You do want your earrings?”
“No, mamma; I shall not wear any ornaments, and I shall put on my black silk. Black is the only wear when one is going to refuse an offer,” said Gwendolen, with one of her old smiles at her mother, while she rose to throw off her dressing-gown.