“To-morrow.” She held out her hand.
He took it in his, hesitated, bent to kiss the delicate fingers, blushed, and turned away.
She looked smilingly after him, bent her head as he turned and bowed lowly at the door, and when it closed, laughed softly to herself. “Beautiful boy!” she murmured. “It is too amusing. He is as fresh as a rose in its first dawn and as fiery as Pegasus.”
The young man entered hastily the close carriage at the step before perceiving that a lady sat there. She was thickly veiled.
“I beg your pardon!” he began.
Without taking any notice of him, she leaned quickly, shut the door with a snap and pulled the curtain down, and left a beautiful ringless, gloveless hand resting advanced on her knee. He looked at the hand, and his lips parted breathlessly. He tried in vain to see the face through that thick veil.
The lady pushed the mantle away from her shoulders and arms, so that her form was revealed.
The young man made a start forward, then recoiled; for, hanging down the gray folds of the lady’s skirt was the silver chatelaine-bag he had seen in the boudoir. What did her companion want of him?
The lady flung her veil aside.
“Oh, Iona!” he cried, and fell into his sister’s embrace.