‘Which you knew to be very well indeed, Miss Vanity, in your bronze velvet gown with the amber slashings, which makes you look like some picture of Titian or Veronese, but which would not lead anyone to suppose that you were an English school-girl.’
‘Oh, don’t call me an English school-girl. I think they are horrid. They know so much more than I do. But do you like me in that dress?’
‘Very much.’
‘I thought, well, if he sees me in this, he will think, “Ah, after all she is presentable. She might be worse.”’
‘Preposterous child! Finally, if I remember aright——’
‘Finally, papa was so ill that I forgot all about my dress. I was in a black frock, sitting beside his bed, I know, when you came.’
‘Yes, I remember. My eyes fell upon you the instant I came in. I remember being struck, then and there, with the contrast between your white face and black dress, and great startled eyes, and this flood of gold, Avice.’ He smiled slightly as he touched a tress of her hair.
‘And I remember that as you came in, I really turned cold with anxiety and alarm. You were pale too, and your eyes seemed to burn upon me. I remember how you walked up to my father, and bent over him, and I thought suddenly, “Oh, I hope he will like me!” Then papa remembered me, and took my hand, and said, “Here’s Avice—you must learn to know her, for when I’m gone she will have no one but you; and she is a hot-house plant, I can tell you.” And you, Jerome, you took my hand—I could not speak. You smiled at me, and I felt as if a tight string had been cut loose from my heart; and you said, “One only needs to look at her to see that.” I must have looked alarmed, for you said, “Do you think you can spare me a little of your regard, my child?” and you put your arm round me, and kissed me. I would have died for you, Jerome, from that moment,’ she concluded, looking into his face with eyes full of suppressed, passionate devotion.
‘Why, you never told me before anything of this,’ he said, in some surprise.
‘Because I waited to see if you would change; if you would presently begin to think me an interloper. But I know you don’t. Oh, I do so love you!’