Then, catching the glance of the Marquise bright with laughter, she laughed also without knowing well at what.
“Well; what is it?”
“Only that you are quoting from the Declaration of Independence, and fancy it the constitution.”
“That is characteristic of American women, too,” laughed Mrs. McVeigh; “declarations of independence is one of our creeds. But I shall certainly be afraid of you, Marquise. At your age the learning and comparing of musty laws 19 would have been dull work for me. It is the age for dancing and gay carelessness.”
The Marquise smiled assent with her curious, dark eyes, in which amber lights shown. She had a certain appealing meekness at times––a sweet deference that was a marked contrast to the aggressiveness with which she had met Dumaresque in the morning. The Countess Helene, observing the deprecating manner with which she received the implied praise for erudition, found herself watching with a keener interest the girl who had seemed to her a mere pretty book-worm.
“She is more than that,” thought the astute worldling. “Alain’s widow has a face for tragedy, the address of an ingenue, and the tout en semble of a coquette.”
The dowager smiled at Mrs. McVeigh’s remarks.
“She cares too little for dancing, the natural expression of healthy young animalism; but what can I do?––nothing less frivolous than a salon a-la-Madame D’Agoult is among her ambitions.”
“Let us persuade her to visit America,” suggested Mrs. McVeigh. “I can, at least, prescribe a change promising more of joyous festivity––life on a Carolina plantation.”
“What delight for her! she loves travel and new scenes. Indeed, Alain, my son, has purchased a property in your land, and some day she may go over. But for the brief remnant of my life I shall be selfish and want her always on my side of the ocean. What, child? you pale at the mention of death––tah! it is not so bad. The old die by installments, and the last one is not the worst.”