Felise made no answer to the maid. She swept forward and looked at the flowers in Bonnibel's hand.
It was a lovely bouquet, composed almost entirely of white flowers. A lily filled the center, surrounded by exquisite rose-buds and waxen tube-roses and azalias. The border of the lovely floral tribute was a delicate fringe of blue forget-me-nots. On a small white card depending from the bouquet was written these words:
"Miss Vere, with the compliments of the day from her father's friend."
"Her father's friend," said Felise, reading it aloud. "That must mean Colonel Carlyle."
"I suppose so," said Bonnibel, simply. "He is very kind to remember me to-day. You will thank him for me, Felise."
"Certainly," Felise answered.
She took up the book—a handsome copy of one of the modern poets—and glanced rapidly through it, but found no writing or underscoring within it, as her jealous fancy had expected.
"I must go," she said, putting it down and trailing her silken skirts hurriedly from the room.
Lucy looked after her with a slight smile. She, in common with all the domestics, hated the overbearing Felise and it pleased her to see what her innocent young mistress never dreamed of—that Mrs. Arnold's daughter was furiously jealous and angry because of her suitor's tribute to Bonnibel.