Nathalie gave a gasp of relief. Oh, it was good to be rid of that horrible black handkerchief! Then her blinders faded into the past as she became aware of the eyes that were gazing into hers, blue ones with violet shadows, fringed by long black lashes!
The eyes were set in the face of a girl about fourteen, that had, notwithstanding the pain-tired mouth with its lines of petulance, a winsome sweetness about it which partly atoned for a jagged crimson scar running across one end of the forehead, partly hidden by short, curly hair which was boyishly parted on one side.
But the blue eyes were gleeful just at this moment, as if their owner was proud of her deftness in slipping off the handkerchief. She clapped her hands and cried, “Oh, aren’t you glad to get rid of that horrid black thing?”
Raising herself on her elbow she drew Nathalie’s face down to hers and whispered, “Don’t say a word to Mother, but it was all arranged—the doctor and I managed it—let Mother think it was an accident.” Before Nathalie could remonstrate the princess called out with a merry trill in her voice, “Oh, Mother! come quick, Miss Page’s blinders have fallen off!”
Nathalie flushed in embarrassed silence as she heard Mrs. Van Vorst’s step hurrying to the couch. O dear, what should she do? It certainly was awkward to have to deceive her. Oh, if the doctor would—but as she turned around to face the lady in question she saw that the doctor was not there.
“The doctor has gone, he had an important call to make,” spoke Mrs. Van Vorst hurriedly, as she came towards the girls and saw Nathalie’s look of distress. “But never mind, Miss Page, it is all right,” she cried reassuringly. “It was a shame to keep you muffled up like that—just for a whim—but if you could understand!” She looked down at Nathalie apologetically.
“I should say it was a whim,” broke in the princess, “and it just serves you right, too, for making her do it. Now Miss Page will go away and tell every one what a horrible-looking thing I am, and it will be all your fault because you are so afraid any one will see me, just as if I was a monster of some sort! Oh, Nathalie—can’t I call you Nathalie?—the doctor told me your name, and then you know you are not so much older than I am.”
“I’m sixteen,” answered Nathalie readily, glad to turn the conversation from the blinders, for she saw that Mrs. Van Vorst was greatly perturbed.
“Oh, Nita, don’t talk that way to Mother,” cried Mrs. Van Vorst in a pained voice. “You know, dear, I only did what I thought was right, and it was to save you, people talk so!”
“I don’t care if they do,” broke in Nita angrily. “I have as much right in this world as they have, even if I am ugly-looking with this scar and hump, they needn’t look at me!”