"Ah, I am very glad. Her story has been as romantic as a novel. I am pleased to hear that it has ended in the same happy fashion."
Then she turned to Mrs. St. John.
"Xenie, I expect you were surprised to find me here this morning. You must have thought——"
She paused here, a little disconcerted by the steady fire of the proud, dark eyes that gravely regarded her.
"Ah, well," she resumed in a moment, with a little laugh, "I have been sadly vexed with you, Xenie. Who could help it? I had been so proud of you, and hoped such great things for you, I could hardly bear it when I learned to what length your passion had carried you."
She paused in sheer pity as she saw the blush of shame flashing suddenly into those white cheeks.
"Well, never mind," she continued, with a significant smile. "All is not lost yet. We will not recall the past. But I wish to talk to your mother. Won't you gather a bunch of your beautiful roses for me, dear, while we have our little chat?"
Glad of an excuse for leaving the room, Xenie turned away, followed by a smile of blended triumph and cunning from her maneuvering aunt.
She ran down the marble steps at one side of the house that led into the beautiful rose-garden that lay glowing and blushing under the balmy sky of June.
Running down the graveled path, she stopped short very suddenly, and a low cry escaped her lips: