“I will, dear auntie,” she said, smiling through her fast-falling tears. “But what return can I make for all your generous kindness?”
“My generous kindness!” the Madame repeated in a tone of contempt; then at some sad memory a look of keen distress swept over her face, and her voice grew low and husky. “It is a small atonement for the past,” she said, “the past that can never be recalled!”
Mr. Tredick was busied with some legal document, and seemed quite oblivious of what was passing between the ladies. Presently he folded the paper up, handed it, with several others, to Floy with the smiling injunction to keep them carefully, inquired of the Madame if she had any further commands for him, and, receiving a reply in the negative, bowed himself out.
As the door closed on her solicitor, the Madame lifted a tiny silver bell from the table at her side and tapped it lightly.
“The carriage waits, ladies,” said Mary, appearing in answer.
“Then we will go at once,” returned her mistress. “Pansy, my dear, put on your hat.”
A heavy rain during the night had wrought a sudden and delightful change in the temperature of the atmosphere; light clouds still partially obscured the sun, and a fresh breeze was blowing from the lake. The ladies had voted it a fine day for shopping, and decided to avail themselves of it for that purpose.
A few moments later they were bowling rapidly along toward the business part of the city in the Madame’s elegant, easily-rolling, softly-cushioned carriage, drawn by a pair of handsome, spirited grays, the pride of Rory’s heart.
They returned some hours after laden with great store of costly and beautiful things which Madame Le Conte had insisted upon heaping on her niece.
There were several ready-made dresses, and in one of these Floy made her appearance at the tea-table spread for herself and aunt in the boudoir of the latter.