He, a man that had fallen into the habit of taking no pleasure in anything, felt like a boy tonight, and suppressing a smile he turned away and sought Mrs. Colonibel to hear any instructions that she might have to give him.
An hour later, while he was having a quiet stroll along the verandas, carefully avoiding the conservatory, where a few stray couples were wandering among the flowers, he came suddenly upon two people who stood in a recess. He turned quickly on his heel, but not before he had noticed the drooping, regretful attitude of Vivienne’s shoulders and the earnest pose of Captain Macartney’s figure. Angrily clasping his hands behind his back, and muttering an uncomplimentary remark regarding men who persecute young girls scarcely out of the schoolroom with a declaration of love, he stepped back into the drawing room.
He had scarcely arrived there before a hand was laid on his shoulder. “Go to Miss Delavigne, will you, Armour?” said Captain Macartney, his face a shade paler than usual. “I think she would like some tea, or an ice.”
With considerable alacrity Mr. Armour obeyed him. He found Vivienne sitting down, her face extremely flushed.
“It is warm here,” he said, cutting a slit in the bunting with his knife. “I do not wonder that you are overcome; I will bring you some tea.”
“I fear that our experiment is not a success,” he said a short time later, as he stood watching her drink the tea.
“Do you refer to this ball?” said Vivienne, lifting her eyebrows.
"Yes; I encouraged Flora in it, for I thought it would be a pleasure to you.
“I can think of nothing but my hackneyed expression of your kindness and my gratitude.”
“And that I do not believe; you talk of gratitude, yet your actions belie your words.”