“Yes,” he said, “I do. I’m not sure I always thought so, but I do now.”
When they reached the theatre, they found the overture just begun. A few minutes later they saw Mrs. Vere’s party enter and place themselves in their box. The dashing young hostess led the way, and seated herself en évidence, with a brilliant party grouped about her. One or two of these Margaret recognized, and Louis knew them all, naming them, without comment, to Margaret. There was some one whom they did not see, sitting in the shadow behind the curtain, and to this person Mrs. Vere directed a greater part of her attention. She constantly leaned to speak to him, or bowed her head to catch his utterances, casting toward him now and then the languishing looks which her peculiarly long eyelashes rendered so effective. Margaret felt that this person was Alan Decourcy, and at the end of the first act her suspicion was proved to be correct, as he then rose and came to Mrs. Vere’s side to take a survey of the house. He looked very graceful and elegant, but, in some way, the great charm his appearance had once possessed for her was gone.
When she turned her eyes away from him, they rested, almost without any volition of her own, upon Louis Gaston’s quiet profile. He was looking away from her, and so she could scan at leisure the earnest lineaments that had in them a genuineness and nobleness so much better than beauty. The more she felt her disappointment in Alan Decourcy, the more she believed in and rested upon Louis Gaston’s friendship. Imperceptibly her regard for him had widened and deepened, until now merely to think of him was to feel peaceful and safe and at rest.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHRISTMAS Day was fine and brilliant, and Margaret awaked early. Her first thoughts were of home and distant friends. How well she knew that the dear father and mother, far away in Bassett, were thinking of her! As she rose and dressed, her heart was in full unison with the day’s sweet lesson of peace and goodwill, and when she knelt to say her morning prayers, she had a vague feeling that somehow this Christmas Day was a fuller and better one than any she had known before. She did not ask herself what was the new element in her life that made it so; it was too indefinite to be formulated into a tangible idea, but she felt conscious of its presence.
General and Mrs. Gaston had a charming present for her when she went down to breakfast—a pair of exquisite gold bracelets of the most beautiful design and workmanship, and, as they seemed really pleased with the little presents that she had prepared for them, they had a very satisfactory beginning of their Christmas Day. After breakfast, she went to her room to write a letter home, and when that was done it was time to dress for church.
A little before eleven, as Miss Trevennon was standing in the deep bow-window of the drawing-room, equipped for the morning service, she heard a firm tread on the carpet behind her, and the next moment her somewhat rusty little Prayer-book and Hymnal were slipped from her hand, and a marvellous tortoise-shell case, containing two beautiful little books, substituted for them. Margaret looked up quickly, and met Louis Gaston’s smiling eyes. He had searched New York over for the prettiest set he could find, and the result satisfied him.
“You will use these instead, will you not?” he said. “I wanted to give you some little thing.”