"I HAVE COME BACK TO MY OWN!"
Quite the pleasantest of all the rooms that had been so sumptuously fitted up, when "Mrs. Torrance" came to Oakley, a bride, was the back drawing-room. At least it was pleasantest in Winter. Its large windows faced south and west, and all of the Winter sunshine fell upon them, glowing through crimson curtains, and helping the piled-up anthracite in the grate to bathe the room in a ruddiness of crimson and golden bronze.
On this particular December day, the air was crisp and cold, and full of floating particles of hoar frost, while the winter sun shone bright and clear. Outside, one felt that it was an exceedingly cold sun. But viewed from within, it looked inviting enough, and one felt inspired to dash out into the frosty air and try if they could not walk a la hippogriffe, without touching their feet to the ground.
Some such thought was floating through the mind of Mrs. John Arthur, who was progressing in her convalescence very rapidly now, and who had, on this day, made her second descent to the drawing-rooms.
She had donned, for the first time since her illness, a dinner-dress of rosy silk, its sweeping train and elbow sleeves enriched with flounces of black lace. As there was, at present, no need to play the invalid—herself and Davlin being the sole occupants of the room—she was sweeping up and down its length like a caged lioness.
By and by she swerved from her course, and coming to the grate, put a daintily shod foot upon the bronze fender. Resting one hand on a chair, and looking down upon Davlin, who was lounging before the fire in full dinner costume, she said, abruptly:
"How very interesting all this is!"
Davlin made no sign that he heard.
"Do you know how long we have been playing this little game, sir?"
The man smiled, in that cool way, so exasperating always to her, and lifting one hand, began to tell off the months on his fingers.