“But she told you it was for the major, and sent it.”
“She deceived me; I am not surprised. I am glad Jasper is safe, and I wish you a pleasant tête-à-tête.”
Bowing with unwonted dignity, Octavia set down her basket, and walked away in one direction as Mrs. Snowdon approached in another.
“I have done it now,” sighed Treherne, turning from the girlish figure to watch the stately creature who came sweeping toward him with noiseless grace.
Brilliancy and splendor became Mrs. Snowdon; she enjoyed luxury, and her beauty made many things becoming which in a plainer woman would have been out of taste, and absurd. She had wrapped herself in a genuine Eastern burnous of scarlet, blue, and gold; the hood drawn over her head framed her fine face in rich hues, and the great gilt tassels shone against her rippling black hair. She wore it with grace, and the barbaric splendor of the garment became her well. The fresh air touched her cheeks with a delicate color; her usually gloomy eyes were brilliant now, and the smile that parted her lips was full of happiness.
“Welcome, Cleopatra!” cried Treherne, with difficulty repressing a laugh, as the peacocks screamed and fled before the rustling amplitude of her drapery.
“I might reply by calling you Thaddeus of Warsaw, for you look very romantic and Polish with your pale, pensive face, and your splendid furs,” she answered, as she paused beside him with admiration very visibly expressed in her eyes.
Treherne disliked the look, and rather abruptly said, as he offered her the basket of bread, “I have disposed of my cousin, and offered to do the honors of the peacocks. Here they are—will you feed them?”
“No, thank you—I care nothing for the fowls, as you know; I came to speak to you,” she said impatiently.
“I am at your service.”