“Yet I recollect your face well, and where I saw it.”
“You?”
“Yes. It was in the garden in the rear of Mr. Wilton’s mansion.”
Lotte clasped her hands together.
She remembered the rencontre in the garden, the group, and, most of all, that proud young beauty, who stood among all, as it then seemed, the “Flower of the Flock.”
And was the prostrate, agonized being before her that same haughty girl!
She gazed on her intently.
Alas! yes it was she! But what a wreck in a period so brief. She could scarcely credit the evidence of her senses, scarce believe that splendid loveliness such as she had seen admired could become so bruised and shattered as this which she now saw before her.
She remained silent for a minute, steadfastly gazing upon her, and then she said—
“You then are—”