The eyes of the whole party were turned at once upon Flora Wilton.
“Lovely, indeed!” ejaculated Lester Vane, for he, with Helen, Margaret, and Evangeline Grahame, were of the party.
Helen Grahame turned her large dark eyes upon Flora. It was impossible not to acknowledge the extreme loveliness of the fair young face upon which her gaze rested, but a pang of mortification and jealousy penetrated her bosom, for Vane’s words rang in her ears, and a glance told her that his eyes were riveted upon Flora’s face with an expression of passionate admiration.
The scene lasted but a moment. Flora, abashed and almost terrified, shrank back and hurried away, closely followed by Lotte, who felt like being detected in a somewhat mean act of espionage, though in this she was not just to herself or to her friend.
All that day and night Lester Vane could not forget the face he had momentarily seen. It was before him in the flowers, in the fleecy clouds, in the waters of the fountain, in the shadows of the night. When his eyes in thoughtfulness closed, it was like a star in the misty gloom. Turn which way he would, direct his thoughts to any channel, still the face floated before his vision.
Who was that young and lovely creature—what her name, condition, character?
He determined to ascertain as quickly as he could. He knew that he should be restless and unhappy until he had acquired this information at least.
Had he conceived a sudden absorbing passion for her? Was this love at first sight?