The conversation was interrupted. It had not been one which Mr. Linden could very well break; all he could do was to watch Faith. He could see her slightly-bent head and still face, and the colour which grew very bright upon the cheek nearest him. She was motionless till the last words were broken off; then, with a shy movement of one hand to her cheek, covering it, she sprang away, as lightly as any bird she was ever named after.
Mr. Linden was detained in the library, where, as the dinner-hour drew near, other members of the family began to gather. A group of these were round the table, discussing an engraving; when Mr. Linden saw Faith come in. He was no longer in the dangerous recess; but Faith did not come near him; she joined the party at the table. Mr. Linden watched her. Faith's dressing was always a quiet affair; to-day somehow the effect was very lovely. She wore a soft muslin which flowed about her in full draperies; with a breast-knot of roses on its white folds. Faith rarely put on flowers that Mr. Linden had not given her. To-day was an exception; and her white robe with no setting off but those roses and her rich hair, was faultless. Not merely that; the effect was too striking to be absolutely quiet; all eyes were drawn to her.
The gentlemen whom she had heard speak were among the party; and no eyes were more approving. Mr. Linden watched, as he might, without being seen to watch. Faith joined not only the party, but the conversation; taking her place in it frankly; showing no unwillingness to give opinions or to discuss them, and no desire to avoid any subject that came up. She was taking a new stand among these strangers. Mr. Linden saw it, and he could guess the secret reason; no one else could guess that there was anything to give a reason for, so coolly, so naturally, it was done. But the stand was taken. Faith had not stepped in the least out of her own bounds; she had abated not a whit of her extreme modesty. She was never more herself, only it was as if she had laid down a self-indulgent shyness which she had permitted herself before, and allowed Mr. Linden's friends to become acquainted with Mr. Linden's wife. But with herself! Her manner to-day was exceedingly like her dress; the plainest simplicity, the purest quality, and the roses blushing over all. It fascinated the gentlemen, every one of them. They found that the little demure piece of gravity could talk; and talk with a truth and freshness of thought too, which was like the rest of her, uncommon and interesting, soft and free, at once. Faith went off to dinner on the arm of one of her maligners, and was very busy with company all the evening after, having little to do with Mr. Linden.
She had escaped to her room earlier than he, however; and when he came in she was sitting thoughtfully before the open window. She rose up directly, and came to him, with the usual smile, and with a little hidden triumph dancing in her eyes, and an odd wistful look besides of affection and humility. She only came close to him for a caress, without speaking. Mr. Linden took her face in both hands and looked at it—a beautiful smile mingling with the somewhat moved look of his own.
"What a child you are!"
The colour rushed all over Faith's cheeks.
"Why?—" she whispered. The answer to which, cheeks and brow, and lips, might spell out as best they could.
"Do you know why I did not come with your flowers,
Mignonette?"—"Before dinner?—no. I got some for myself."
"I was on my way for them, and was entrapped and held fast. My little Mignonette! I never thought to have you put your hand to your cheek in that way again!"
"Again, Endecott! Who told you?" said Faith, as usual jumping to conclusions.