“What do you mean by disobeying my orders? Didn’t I tell you I would see no one to-night? How dare you take it upon yourself to act contrary to my wishes?”
Peter, the servant, to whom these angry, impatient words were addressed, stood meekly in the doorway of his master’s library, half in and half out of the room, waiting for Mr. Oscar Hilton’s loud voice to cease before venturing to explain his reason for thus intruding on the latter’s privacy.
“Please, sir, I didn’t forget your orders, but if you’ll remember, sir, you told me only yesterday never to deny you to Mr. St. John——”
As Peter uttered this name Oscar Hilton’s face, which had been haggard and pale as if some deep sorrow weighed upon him, brightened wonderfully, and his voice lost its angry tone.
“You are right, Peter; say to Mr. St. John that I will see him here, and——”
At this moment Peter drew himself back from the doorway, and a young girl entered the room—a petite and fairylike creature, looking even younger than her eighteen years, with eyes of that peculiar blue that darkens into purple, a complexion clear and fair as the lotus leaf, and hair of a deep reddish brown that shone like dull gold in the soft shaded light.
She was dressed richly, as became the daughter of Oscar Hilton—who was supposed to be one of the richest men in New York. But that gentleman’s face betrayed neither admiration nor love as she advanced into the room and stood before him.
“We are ready for Mrs. Laurier’s reception, papa, and I wanted you to see my costume for the occasion before Isabel came to you, because I knew how my poor little self will fade into insignificance and be totally eclipsed by the superior beauty of my queenly sister—but what is the matter? Papa, you look pale and tired. Shall I stay at home and read for you? Indeed, I do not care about the party—do let me stay with you, papa.”
The girl’s sweet voice—at first full of playfulness and merriment—had grown tender and earnest with the utterance of the last words, and she came toward her father with hands extended as if to embrace him; but Oscar Hilton repulsed her almost rudely.
“Go to the reception by all means, Iris, and don’t be so silly and childish. I am expecting a visitor just now, and cannot be bothered. Say to Isabel that I will see her when she comes back from Mrs. Laurier’s. I have writing to do to-night, and shall not have retired.”