"By lamplight," Trix said, ignoring the rest of her speech. "Ah, yes, that's the worst of it, Edith; you dark people always light up well. And Lady Gwendoline Drexel—I wonder what Lady Gwendoline will wear to-night? I should like to be the best-dressed young lady at the ball. Do you know, Dith," spitefully this, "I think Charley is quite struck with Lady Gwendoline. You noticed, I suppose, the attention he paid her the evening we met, and then he has been to Drexel Court by invitation. Pa is most anxious, I know. Money will be no object, you know, with Charley, and really it would be nice to have a titled sister-in-law. 'My sister, Lady Gwendoline Stuart,' will sound very well in New York, won't it? It would be a very suitable match for Charley."
"A most suitable match," Miss Darrell repeated; "age included. She is ten years his senior if a day; but where true love exists, what does a trifle of years on either side signify? He has money—she has rank. He has youth and good looks—she has high birth and a handle to her name. As you say, Trixy, a most suitable match!"
And then Miss Darrell went back to her book, but the slender, black brows were meeting in a steady frown, that quite spoiled her beauty—no doubt at something displeasing in the pages.
"But you mustn't sit here all day," broke in Trix again; "it's high time you were up in your dressing-room. What are you going to wear, Dith?"
"I have not decided yet. I don't much care; it doesn't much matter. I have decided to look my best in anything."
She arose and sauntered out of the room, and was seen no more, until the waxlights blazed from end to end of the great mansion and the June dusk had deepened into dewy night. Then, as the roll of carriages came without ceasing along the drive, she descended, arrayed for battle, to find her impatient slave and adorer awaiting her at the foot of the grand stairway. She smiled upon him her brightest, most beaming smile, a smile that intoxicated him at sight.
"Will I do, Sir Victor?" she asked.
Would she do? He looked at her as a man may look half dazzled, at the sun. He could not have told you what she wore, pink and white clouds it seemed to him—he only knew two brown, luminous, laughing eyes were looking straight into his, and turning his brain with their spell.
"You are sure I will do? You are sure you will not be ashamed of me to-night?" her laughing voice asked again.
Ashamed of her—ashamed! He laughed aloud at the stupendous joke, as he drew her arm within his, and led her into the thronged rooms, as some favored subject may once in his life lead in a queen.