“Do you not see that Cecil can only come to the side of the phaeton and talk to you in my presence? Of course a third party will spoil the pleasure of your meeting.”
“Oh, no, no, no, dear Amber, for we both love you so dearly, you have been so good to us! And so it does not matter if you hear all that we have to say! For we will not have time to talk of our love, but only of our troubles,” declared Violet, frankly.
“Very well, then, Violet, you may get ready at once. Cecil will be waiting for us on the river-road, expecting to get a letter. What a happy surprise he will have in seeing you!”
“He will be overjoyed,” agreed Violet, without noticing Amber’s angry frown at her tone of happy confidence in her lover.
The joy of the anticipated meeting chased the sadness from her eyes, and brought a lovely rose-flush into her delicate cheeks. She dressed herself in a soft, white cashmere gown, with a little wrap to match, that had a quantity of fluffy white lace and blue ribbon about the neck and shoulders. A pretty hat in white and blue crowned the rippling waves of golden hair, and framed a picture of girlish beauty charming enough to enrapture the heart of a poet, a painter, or a lover.
When the two girls were seated side by side in the phaeton, the one so dazzlingly fair, the other so dark and brilliant, they embodied the poet’s fancy of a sunny morn and a starry night, and it would have been hard for any one but a lover to decide which one could claim the palm of superior beauty.
But there was not a doubt in Cecil’s mind, for, since the first moment he met Violet, he had named her in his heart fairest of the fair.
Like Violet, he had been pining to meet his love, and Amber had promised him an interview if it could possibly be managed.
But, knowing the vindictive old judge so well, he scarcely dared hope she would succeed.
So it was with no thought of seeing Violet, but in the hope of a letter from her, he waited impatiently by the river that day.