"I want to really see your gown. It is exquisite. What perfect taste you have, Lillian."
Miss Stuart's gown was of the palest shade of green velvet, made so simply as to be almost severe in its lines. The low-cut bodice was ornamented with some fine cut jet, and a little dagger of the same was thrust through the soft coil of auburn hair which crowned her small and shapely head. Her neck and arms shone dazzlingly fair, and the contour of the firm white throat would have delighted the eyes of an artist. The long straight lines of her gown accentuated her height, which was somewhat above the average, and she carried herself with regal grace.
Helen gazed at her a moment in silent admiration. She absolutely worshiped beauty, and its power over her was very great. Had anyone hinted to her that it was chiefly this in Miss Stuart which so charmed her, she would have indignantly refuted the accusation, and yet in a great measure it was true. Many and many a time she had cause to puzzle over her friend—aye, almost to distrust and fear her; but the power of the girl's great beauty blinded her and left her helpless to condemn one who possessed such infinite attraction.
The silence lasted but a moment, yet Miss Stuart had read Helen's verdict in her transparent face, and her pulses quickened with triumphant hope.
"Well, well," she cried laughingly, at length, "are you spellbound, and have you forgotten your guests?"
Helen cast a hurried glance at the clock.
"Why, it is seven. I must run down at once. Follow me as soon as you can, dear."
Down in the drawing-room, Jean was wandering restlessly about, too excited to keep still for one moment. She wore the simplest of her gowns, but one which Farr had once told her he liked. Jean was almost without vanity, but to-night, as she passed the long mirror over the mantel, she could not refrain from glancing therein. She was counting the slow-footed moments, and at every turn her eyes consulted the old Dutch clock in the corner. At last a carriage drove up the graveled road, there were steps upon the veranda, and the front door opened and closed again. She longed to run out into the hall, but an overwhelming shyness deterred her; and even as she halted, irresolute, the portières were pushed apart, and, as in a dream, she saw Farr coming toward her. Her heart beat so she could not trust her voice to speak him greeting.
He caught both her hands in his, and held them closely.
"Jean, do you know how glad I am to see you again?" he whispered.