Rosemont was one of the most ideally beautiful summer houses in Fauquier County.
It was a large white mansion, in villa style, surrounded by flower-gardens and pleasure-grounds, with a charming mountain view, and, nearer home, the silvery windings of the Rappahannock River forming the southern boundary of the large estate.
On the afternoon of the picnic Precious Winans swung lazily in a hammock on the long front piazza, while her favorite, Kay, the immense mastiff, lay within touch of the tiny white hand that every little while reached down to caress the tawny head.
At some distance away Mistress Norah, the good-natured nurse, sat cozily in an armchair, knitting lace.
Along the lattice-work that shaded the end of the piazza clambered a great honeysuckle vine loaded with odorous, creamy-white blooms. Here the busy little bees hummed ceaselessly, bright-winged butterflies hovered, and two robins flew in and out of the branches with straws for a nest. The golden sunshine sifting through the leaves in light and shade on the girl's white gown and sunny head seemed like the spirit of peace spreading its brooding wings over the lovely, quiet scene.
Precious had been reading a book of poems. It lay open now under one white hand, and with half-shut, dreamy eyes, she was recalling the last lines she had read:
"Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep impassioned gaze.
"It comes—the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,
In silence and alone,
To seek the elected one."
The velvety blue of the young girl's eyes looked very soft and tender under the long-fringed lashes that were so dark by contrast with the sunshine of her hair.
She was wondering when love would come to her, and if she would find it sweet.