In an instant the flitting insects were flickering throughout the garden, and the water of the fountain became a living flame. Helen’s first exclamation of delight was interrupted by Giuseppe’s groan of terror as the old gardener hastily retreated to the house, crossing himself and praying for divine protection against the magic of the evil one which had entered and taken possession of his very domain. The suspicion with which he had viewed the labors of the electricians during the past few days was now fully justified, and he saw his work of thirty years in danger of destruction by the conflagration which he believed must inevitably follow.
“Splendid, Phil!” cried Helen, when Giuseppe was at last quieted. “I had no idea you were carrying out so grand a scheme. What should I have done without you?”
“It was Mr. Cartwright’s idea, you know, Helen,” insisted Emory.
“To get the light up here—not the arrangement, which is all to your credit,” Uncle Peabody hastened to add.
“I owe everything to both of you,” said Helen, holding out a hand to each. “Now I want to see every light.” Slowly they walked about the garden inspecting the illumination. “It is perfect,” exclaimed Helen. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am with it. I ought to be jealous that you have so outdone me in your part of the decoration, but I am really proud of you!”
As they were taking an admiring view of the floral arrangements Jack and Inez rode up. Emory started to suggest to them a view of the garden, but a glance from Helen prevented.
“Save it for a surprise, Phil,” she whispered. “They have no idea of what you have done.”
It was nearly ten o’clock when the first guests arrived, and for an hour Helen, Jack, and Uncle Peabody greeted the brilliant gathering as it assembled. To most of them Armstrong was a complete stranger, and it was quite evident that many of those who had known and admired Helen and Mr. Cartwright possessed no little curiosity concerning this man of whom so little had been seen.
“Then there really is a Mr. Armstrong, after all,” exclaimed the Marchesa Castellani, smiling blandly as Helen presented him. “We had almost come to look upon you as one of those American—what shall we say?—conceits.”
The color came to Helen’s face, but before she could reply Cerini pressed forward from behind.