Babbacombe watched her with a dumb longing. How often he had pictured
her as hostess where now she moved as guest! Well, that dream of his was
shattered, but the glowing fragments yet burned in his secret heart. All
his life long he would remember her as he saw her that night on his own
hearth. Her loveliness was like a flower wide open to the sun. He
thought her lovelier that night than she had ever been before. When she
flitted away at length, he felt as if she took the warmth and brightness
of the fireside with her.
There was no agreement between them, but he knew that she would be down
early, and hastened his own dressing in consequence. He found her
waiting alone in the drawing-room before a regal fire. She wore a
splendid star of diamonds in her dark hair. It sparkled in a thousand
colours as she turned. Her dress was black, unrelieved by any ornament.
"Cynthia," he said, "you are exquisite!"
The words burst from him almost involuntarily. She put out her hand to
him with a gesture half of acknowledgment, half of protest.
"I may be good to look at," she said, with a little whimsical smile.
"But--I tell you, Jack--I feel a perfect reptile. It's heads I win,
tails you lose; and--I just can't bear it."
There was a catch in the high voice that was almost a sob. Babbacombe
took her hand and held it.
"My dear," he said, "it's nothing of the sort.
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