He was abstractedly studying the effect of a bunch of red columbine nodding at a white throat just before him. He had secured those flowers himself, with some trouble, that very day, during a morning drive, and he alone knew the sweetness of the reward which had been his.
"A marriage, Doctor," went on the youth, jocosely. "Marriage in high life. Professor Samuel Commeraw to Miss Lilly O'Connell, both of Ridgemont."
Horton looked up quickly.
"From whom did you get your information?" he asked, coolly regarding the young fellow.
"From Commeraw himself," he answered, with some hesitation.
"Ah!" Dr. Horton returned, indifferently. "I thought it very likely."
"I don't find it so incredible," said Miss Fairfield, in her fine, clear voice. "He is the only one of her own color in the town. It seems to me very natural."
Dr. Horton looked into the fair face. Was it the flickering light of the Chinese lanterns which gave the delicate features so hard and cold a look?
He turned his eyes away, and as he did so he saw that Lilly O'Connell, with three or four children clinging about her, had approached, and, impeded by the crowd, had stopped very near the floral temple. A glance at her face showed that she had heard all which had been said concerning her.
The old fiery spirit shone from her dilated eyes as they swept over the insignificant face of the youth who had spoken her name. Her lips were contracted, and her hand, resting on the curly head of one of the children, trembled violently.