"You always were—with reverence be it spoken—rather a coward, Celeste. Do you remember the day I shot the bird that Louis saved for you, and you fell fainting to the ground?" said Gipsy, laughing at the remembrance.
"Yes, I remember. I was rather an absurd little thing in those days," said Celeste, smiling. "How I did love that unlucky little bird!"
"Oh! that was because Louis gave it to you. There! don't blush. Apropos of Louis, I wonder where he is now?"
"In Rome, I suppose; at least Mrs. Oranmore told me so," replied Celeste.
"Yes; when last we heard from him he was studying the old masters, as he calls them—or the old grannies, as Guardy calls them. I shouldn't wonder if he became quite famous yet, and—oh, Celeste! where did you get that pretty chain and cross?" abruptly asked Gipsy, as her eye fell on the trinket.
"A present," said Celeste, smiling and blushing.
Gipsy's keen eyes were fixed on her face with so quizzical an expression, that the rose-hue deepened to crimson on her fair cheek as they passed into the house. And Gipsy went up and shook hands with Miss Hagar, and seated herself on a low stool at her feet, to relate the morning's adventures, while Celeste laid the cloth and set the table for breakfast.
After breakfast Gipsy rode off in the direction of Deep Dale. On entering the parlor she found Minnette sitting reading.
Minnette—now a tall, splendidly developed, womanly girl, with the proud, handsome face of her childhood—rose and welcomed her guest with cold courtesy. The old, fiery light lurked still in her black eyes; but the world had learned her to subdue it, and a coldly-polite reserve had taken the place of the violent outburst of passion so common in her tempestuous childhood.
"Don't you find it horribly dull here, Minnette?" said Gipsy, swallowing a rising yawn.