Her eyes brimmed with unbelief.
“You know you don’t care tuppence,” she said; but she threw the cloak at last from her shoulders, and leaned back in the chair, drooping an admiring eye. She was on her way to the great costume ball of the season, and forced from South a hazard at her masquerade.
“Apple blossom?” he ventured, and was complimented.
“Ah, you should see it standing up; but you’re not worth that. Look there!”
She spread out the phantom of a fan, shaped and painted as a tuft of its tinted bloom.
“Veynes gave it me,” she said.
“Oh, did he?”
“Ye-es, he did. Are you sorry for Veynes?”
“I!—why?”