And Felise, as she watched him bending anxiously over the girl she hated, wished in her heart that Bonnibel Vere might never recover from the swoon that looked so much like death.
[CHAPTER X.]
"A merry Christmas, Bonnibel, and many happy returns of the day."
Bonnibel Vere, lying helplessly on the sofa in her dressing-room, looked up with a start of surprise.
Felise Herbert was entering with her cat-like steps and a deceitful smile wreathing her thin lips.
"Thank you, Felise," she answered wearily, "though your wishes can scarcely bear fruit to-day."
"Are you suffering so much pain to-day?" asked Felise, dropping into an easy-chair and resting her head with its crown of dark braids against its violet velvet lining.
"My ankle is rather painful."
"We are going to have a few friends to dine with us to-day—Colonel Carlyle is among them—and we thought—mother and I—that you might be well enough to come down into the drawing-room," said the visitor, watching the invalid keenly under her drooping lashes.