Amber obeyed his mandate quickly, only too glad of the chance to separate the lovers.
When she reached the river, she found them saying good-by beneath the willows with lingering glances and shy caresses. Violet was saying:
“You must go away now, dear Cecil, for Amber will be so angry all this evening; and, besides, we are expecting grandpapa home from the World’s Fair at any moment.”
“Then I shall call in the morning to ask him for my darling.”
“Oh, Cecil!” blushingly; but just then Amber appeared, exclaiming:
“Grandpapa has come already, Violet, and has sent me to call you in. He is very impatient to see you.”
Violet flew blithely across the daisied lawn, but Amber lingered on, eager to make up her quarrel with Cecil.
She stood in his path, so that he could not turn away from her, while she murmured, with a gentleness that was new and strange in haughty Amber:
“I spoke hastily just now, Cecil, and did not mean what I said. I forgive you for your cruelty to me, and I want to be your friend, since I cannot be your love, like Violet.”
He thought that he had never seen proud Amber so charming as now, with those downcast eyes and that sad, resigned air, so sweet and gentle. The humble, entreating voice melted his heart.