After they had spoken to their hostess and her daughters, Decourcy led Miss Trevennon away to make the tour of the rooms, which were ablaze with lights and flowers, and gorgeous to behold.
“There’s something very distinguished about this dress you are wearing, Margaret,” he said, in a tone that was caressingly sweet, “or is it, perhaps, my cousin’s lovely face and figure that make it appear so? You are looking your very best, yet I never saw you so devoid of color.”
“It’s the contrast with Mrs. Vere’s gorgeousness, perhaps!” said Margaret, with a rather strained little laugh. “When did you meet Mrs. Vere, by-the-way?”
He turned suddenly, and looked at her with a glance of keen scrutiny, but, seeing the utter unsuspiciousness of her frank gaze, he said carelessly:
“Mrs. Vere? Oh, she’s a very old friend! I hardly remember the time when I didn’t know Antoinette Vere.”
“Did you know of her being in Washington?”
“Yes, indeed; I saw her when I was in town, the other day. She lives here.”
“Why, I wonder you did not tell me you had this great friend living here, and make her come to see me!” said Margaret, in her honest way.
“I didn’t think of it,” he said, somewhat constrainedly. “I didn’t suppose you’d care for it.”
He turned, then, and called her attention to some especially pretty bit of decoration, and Mrs. Vere was not mentioned again.