He hoped that time was effacing it now, since she was another’s wife; but insensibly there grew on him a wild longing to see her again.
He explained it to himself on the score of curiosity as to how she would look in the garb of wealth and fashion—beautiful Daisie, who had been irresistible in the simple white gown with lavender ribbons.
So he went with his cousin to hear Calvé, and in the opposite box he saw his old love sitting—Daisie, in her white silk and misty lace and costly jewels, and that crown of golden hair—golden hair that had once lain on his breast, in that time that seemed so far away. And people kept going in and out of the box to speak to the three beauties; but he saw quickly that she attracted always the most admiration. She must enjoy it, too; for her face wore the most enchanting smiles, as if no care disturbed her mind.
“Yet she pretended that it grieved her to give me up. Was it not true? Has she forgotten so soon? Is she happy?” he mused angrily.
In his heart he was bitterly angry that she could be happy without him, though that was selfishness, he knew.
By and by he saw Mrs. Fleming looking over at their box, and the start she gave as she recognized him.
“Who is the young man in the box with Mrs. Hill-Dixon?”
“Her cousin, Lord Werter, a regular swell,” he replied.
Annette Janowitz brought her opera glass into play, exclaiming:
“What! a real live lord? Let me have a good look at him. Oh, dear me; he’s the living image of Dallas Bain! Do look, Daisie!”