Mr. Armour was looking at the closed sleigh standing before the door.
“Who is going out to-night?” he asked of the man.
“Mrs. Colonibel and Colonel Armour, sir,” said the coachman touching his cap. “There is a ball at Government House.”
Mr. Armour turned to Vivienne and extended a helping hand, then drawing a latchkey from his pocket he threw open a large inner door.
Vivienne stepped in—stepped from the bitter cold of a Canadian winter night to the warmth and comfort of tropical weather. The large square hall was full of a reddish light. Heavy curtains, whose prevailing color was red, overhung each doorway. A group of tall palms stood in one corner and against them was placed the tinted statue of a lacrosse player. Pictures of Canadian scenery hung on the walls and over two of the doorways hung the heads and branching antlers of Nova Scotian moose.
Her quiet scrutiny of the hall over she found Mr. Armour was regarding her with a look of agitation on his usually impassive face.
“Will you be kind enough to take off your hat?” he said; “it shades your face.”
The girl looked at him in surprise and removed the large felt hat that she wore. Somewhat to her amusement she discovered a huge mirror mounted on a marble bracket at her elbow. A passing glance at it showed that her smooth black hair was not dishevelled, but was coiled in the symmetrical rolls imperiously demanded by Dame Fashion as she reigned in Paris. Her face beneath was dark and glowing, her eyes composed as she would have them, and her resemblance to her dead father was extraordinary.
She looked expectantly at Mr. Armour. He bit his lip and without speaking drew aside a velvet portière with a hand shaking from some strong and overmastering emotion and signed to her to enter the drawing room.