“Then he will be no father of mine.” And proudly tossing her dark head, she sprang from the canoe and ran away from him to hide her tearful eyes.
A few hours later Judy Colonibel was tiptoeing about a group of three people who stood with more or less agitated faces in the Pinewood drawing room. They had not yet become fully accustomed to Valentine’s blindness, and upon this, the first occasion of leaving him to go to one of the scenes of festivity in which he had formerly taken so much pleasure, two at least of the group of three felt their hearts wrung with compassion.
His face, however, was perfectly calm as he sat astride a chair listening to Judy’s description of their appearance.
“They are all in white, Valentine,” she said enthusiastically, “and they look, as MacDaly says, ‘deliciously delicate and palatably perfect.’ What are you saying? That you think it must be rather trying to Stanton? Foolish boy, he has on his usual evening clothes. Mamma’s dress is satin, Vivienne’s silk, and they both have little white plumes in their hair—mamma three with lace, and Vivienne two with a veil. Why, Flora Colonibel, where are your diamonds? You ought to be in a blaze, to-night.”
A painful color overspread Mrs. Colonibel’s face.
“Flora,” said Armour, “go and put on your jewels. I insist.” And his eyes followed her in satisfaction as she slowly left the room.
“And our dear blackbird wears her pearls,” continued Judy, squeezing Vivienne’s hand, “a beautiful string that I fancy a man soon to become a relation by marriage has given her, and——”
“Has she no flowers?” inquired Valentine with animation.
“My ghost flowers!” exclaimed Vivienne. “Where are they?”
“I was hoping that you would forget them,” said Armour with a laugh.