“Laura!”
But she was gone—and the attendant ladies, who had melted into the background when she drew near, were bearing down on him. He cursed women, in his heart, for the mulls they dragged one into. Compunction, pity, strove in him with anger and resentment. Poor Laura! Yet how the clasp of her hand had burned, and how green her eyes had gleamed with jealousy! He foresaw hideous complications with her family—more terrible with his wife’s people. Confound it! And just now when one’s Sovereign—always down like bricks upon conjugal offenders—notoriously strict in matters of morals—might be expected to smile on a popular Brigadier....
“No, Lady Hathermore, no iced lemonade, thank you. You’re too kind, Madame de Mirecourt, but I’ve three cushions and a footstool now!”
So forbidding was his frown, that they rustled away in search of more accessible divinities. Then—lovely eyes—greenish hazel with golden lights and dusky shadows playing in them—looked down into his and a lovely mouth smiled bewilderingly. A small white hand with clusters of rubies and diamonds like drops of blood mingled with tears sparkling on its slender, pink-tipped fingers, held under his nose a little bunch of violets....
Henriette had charmed—she must charm again—she had been asked for a single flower—she must give the whole bunch in her lavishness. You remember that she could never say No! to a man?...
“I was unkind just now.... You asked—and I denied you. See—I will make amends! Smell them—are they not sweet?”
“Divinely sweet!—both the gift and the giver!” He forgot his new-born prejudice against her sex, as she sank with a whispering rustle of silken draperies into the vacant chair at his side. Suave enchantress! Exquisite witch! How these ivory-white, supple, small-boned creatures vulgarized high-colored, big-boned women! Laura, who would presently have to lead her own forlorn hope down into the Valley of Death under the plunging fire of the eyes of Society, was high-colored and big of bone.
“You were angry with me, and for good cause.... I offended, and I have been punished....”
She said, delighting him with her voice, with her smile, with the play of her mobile features:
“The fault lay not in your words, Milord, or in your actions, but in your eyes. Men with such blue eyes are inimical to me. I believe ‘unlucky’ is your English word? Ah, no! Do not suppose I do not like the color.... Unhappily, I liked it but too well!”