“I hope that girl won’t take advantage of Zee’s kindness,” said Mrs. Forrest, as her brother left her at her door.
“I shouldn’t worry about her if I were you.”
“I certainly shan’t; but you were always down on her father.”
“I was always a good deal of a fool, too,” said Rodney Merriam; and he refused to be taken home in his sister’s carriage, but walked homeward from her door through High Street, beating the walk reflectively with his stick.
At the Athenæum Zelda was enjoying herself unreservedly. Her cousin Olive had been presented to a representative Mariona audience in a way that had commanded attention, and Zelda was thoroughly happy over it. She did not care in the least what people might say about the healing of old wounds among the Merriams, or about the general disappointment over her own singing,—she had cared for nothing but to get through her part decently. Her chief pleasure in Deceivers Ever was in throwing the principal rôle to Olive; and it gave her the only unalloyed joy of her home-coming to see Olive established socially on a footing that was, she told herself, as firm as her own.
She stood talking to Captain Pollock between dances. Pollock was the least bit sensitive about his height—and a shadow fell on his usually serene spirit at finding that he must tilt his head the merest trifle to talk to Zelda Dameron.
“How does it feel to be a real angel?” he asked.
“I’m not bright at puzzles; you’ll have to tell me.”
“I’ve heard of heroism on the battle-field and I’ve seen men do some fine things; but you have broken all the records.”
He spoke with feeling. She knew well enough what he meant, but she said with cheerful irrelevancy: