“My rheumatism is bad enough, but what worries me most is that I made such a mistake—pawning my diamonds for that splendid gown when you might have done better remaining at home without it!”
“Mamma, what can you mean?” and Jessie Stirling frowned, impatiently, tearing a white rose to pieces with excited fingers.
“I mean that, after all my sacrifices to get you ready for Mrs. Van Bibber’s reception, hoping you might meet Chester Olyphant there and make up your quarrel, he came here to call on you in your absence.”
“And I missed him like that! Oh, what a shame! But who could have dreamed he would miss the reception? Still, mamma, you should have kept him till I returned. Oh, why did you let him get away?” queried the girl, angrily.
“How could I help it, my dear? You know very well I would have been willing to chain him to his chair to keep him here till you came! I did my best—made talk, and tried to hold him, but after an hour he pleaded an engagement and hurried away.”
“But he will come again. Surely he will! Of course you asked—made him promise?” cried Jessie, wildly.
“Yes, oh yes, but he did not say he would. He only came, he said, to return some negatives you loaned him to make pictures from—the ones you took with your own camera in the mountains last summer.”
“Oh, yes, I remember—Uncle Hermann’s picturesque old stone mansion, and some mountains and river views taken from the bridge at Alderson.”
“Yes, and some pictures, too, of that hoidenish girl, Leola. I wish you had left those out, Jessie.”
“Why, really, mamma, I forgot they were in the negative book, for I didn’t mean to show them to Chester. Not that I could be jealous of a wild thing like Leola Mead, but because I promised her no one should see them. There was that one of her wading in the creek, you know, and another in bloomers sitting astride her white pony Rex, and another in hunting costume, rifle on her shoulder. Really, she wasn’t pretty in any of the negatives, except her white evening gown with the lilies on her shoulder.”