“You needn’t be in such a hurry to hide that ring,” she said below her breath. “I know about it. There was one letter you forgot to burn, mon ami!”
He turned from red to white. His only comfort was Virginia’s noble, unconscious look as she led the way into the house.
XI
Colonel Denbigh accompanied his guests to the door, and, after the farewells were sufficiently prolonged to suit his old-fashioned ways, he stood on the piazza and watched them to the gate. Fanchon turned there, a small, graceful creature, and kissed her hand to him. The colonel waved. William raised his hat, and the two figures turned off into the street.
As they grew smaller in the distance, Virginia came out and stood beside her grandfather.
“A pretty creature,” said the colonel thoughtfully. “Claws in velvet! What do you think of her, Jinny?”
“I don’t know,” Virginia replied honestly. “She’s pretty—but there’s something I can’t describe. She’s like a wild bird just put in a gilt cage. It’s a terribly trite simile, but it fits her. She’s beating her wings.”
“That’s poetry, Jinny,” said the colonel, chuckling. “It’s because she’s young and pretty. If she’d been a man, with that kind of an eye, we would have said something about beating his hoofs—I mean cloven ones. She sings like a bird, dances like a fairy, and behaves—well, I remember that Mrs. Payson called her something in French. What was it, eh? Maybe it takes French to express her.”
Virginia flushed.
“She called her a little étourdie. Of course she does queer things; she’s not well-bred, and she seems like a bundle of impulsive whims, but she’s rather captivating in all of them, and fascinating in some.”