The beautiful bride remained motionless where Howard Templeton had left her until the rich lace curtains parted noiselessly again and her lawful lord and master looked in upon her.
He did not speak for a moment, so beautiful she looked standing still and pale as a statue beneath a tall rose-tree that showered its scented petals down upon her night-black hair with its crown of orange blossoms.
No subtle instinct warned her of his presence as it had when that other came.
She stood silent and pale, the dark lashes shading her rounded cheek, her white hands loosely clasped before her until he spoke:
"Xenie, my darling!"
She started and shivered as she looked up.
Mr. St. John came slowly to her side and drew her hand through his arm.
"My dear, I have been seeking you everywhere. Supper is announced," he said.
"I only came here just a little while ago for a quiet minute to myself," she said, apologetically.
"Ah! then, you like quiet and repose sometimes," he said; "I am glad of that, for I am not fond of gayety myself, at least not too much of it. I suppose I am getting too far into the sere and yellow leaf to enjoy it, eh, my dear?"