He wondered if Floy would be glad to see him again, and his heart throbbed a happy response. He had the greatest confidence in his darling’s truth.
“Lady Florence is in her own parlor,” said the servant whom Lord Miller asked for his daughter.
Lady Florence! How strange that sounded to Alva and St. George! Yet it was her rightful title now.
Little Floy was never to know again the ills of poverty and loneliness. All that she had sighed for in other days was hers now—love, wealth, position. Lucky little mortal!
She had been amusing herself all day trying on her new dresses and jewels, but after all they did not fill her tender little heart. There was an ache there all the time because of her grief for her fickle lover.
“I wish that he could see me now. This gown is so becoming,” she thought, artlessly, rejoicing in the possession of the cool white robe so soft and billowy in its fine laces and streaming ribbons.
At that moment three people were at the door, and Lord Miller opened it without knocking.
“Oh, let us wait outside!” cried Alva, with a romantic impulse, drawing back as St. George crossed the threshold.
Neither do we want to make a third at the reunion of the long parted lovers, reader, so we will wait outside with the other couple, for we can guess at all that passed. Haven’t we all been there ourselves?
Ah! happy love! Is it not a foretaste of Paradise?