They went in to an inviting meal, spread in a private room for them. The young man had given an order to this effect before going to ride, as he had noticed that Star was annoyed at dinner by the attention which her lovely face had attracted.
But it was noticeable that Mr. Rosevelt did most of the eating, for our lovers were in altogether too exalted a state for such commonplace realities as bread and butter, or even for anything so tempting as peaches and cream.
When Mr. Rosevelt’s hunger was appeased, he asked Star to play something before they left.
There was a piano in the room, and he was extremely fond of music.
“I want our friend here to know what a talented little musician we have,” he said, with a fond glance at his favorite.
Star was only too willing to comply with his request, glad of anything to relieve the awkward consciousness which had pervaded her all through tea, and sitting down to the instrument, she played several pieces.
Archibald Sherbrooke was astonished at the proficiency which she displayed, and the appreciative silence which prevailed upon the veranda outside the open windows, told that her power had swayed a larger audience than she had thought of having.
“She is mine; I have won her, this talented, beautiful, pure-hearted girl,” Archibald Sherbrooke said, exultantly, to himself, as he closed the piano for her, and pressed the hand that hung invitingly near him.
They repaired to the boat-landing soon after, for it was nearly time for their departure.
When the steamer arrived, Archibald found a sheltered seat for Mr. Rosevelt, and then drawing Star a little apart, wrapped her shawl carefully about her and sat down beside her, her hand clasped in his under cover of its soft folds.