Audrey

As he spoke, he handed into the coach the lady in flowered damask, who had

held up her head, but said no word, and the lady in rose-colored brocade,

who, through the length of the ballroom and the hall and the broad walk

where people passed and repassed, had kept her hand in Audrey's, and had

talked, easily and with smiles, to the two attending gentlemen. He shut to

the coach door, and drew back, with a low bow, when Haward's deeply

flushed, handsome face appeared for a moment at the lowered glass.

"Art away to Westover, Evelyn?" he asked. "Then 't is 'Good-by,

sweetheart!' for I shall not go to Westover again. But you have a fair

road to travel,--there are violets by the wayside; for it is May Day, you

know, and the woods are white with dogwood and purple with the Judas-tree.

The violets are for you; but the great white blossoms, and the boughs of

rosy mist, and all the trees that wave in the wind are for Audrey." His

eyes passed the woman whom he would have wed, and rested upon her

companion in the coach. "Thou fair dryad!" he said. "Two days hence we

will keep tryst beneath the beech-tree in the woods beyond the glebe

house."

The man beside him put a hand upon his shoulder and plucked him back, nor

would look at Evelyn's drawn and whitened face, but called to the coachman

to go on. The black horses put themselves into motion, the equipage made a

wide turn, and the lights of the Palace were left behind.

Evelyn lodged in a house upon the outskirts of the town, but from the

Palace to Mistress Stagg's was hardly more than a stone's throw. Not until

the coach was drawing near the small white house did either of the women

speak. Then Audrey broke into an inarticulate murmur, and stooping would

have pressed her cheek against the hand that had clasped hers only a

little while before. But Evelyn snatched her hand away, and with a gesture

of passionate repulsion shrank into her corner of the coach. "Oh, how dare

you touch me!" she cried. "How dare you look at me, you serpent that have

stung me so!" Able to endure no longer, she suddenly gave way to angry

laughter. "Do you think I did it for you,--put such humiliation upon

myself for you? Why, you wanton, I care not if you stand in white at

every church door in Virginia! It was for him, for Mr. Marmaduke Haward of

Fair View, for whose name and fame, if he cares not for them himself, his

friends have yet some care!" The coach stopped, and the footman opened the

door. "Descend, if you please," went on Evelyn clearly and coldly. "You

have had your triumph. I say not there is no excuse for him,--you are very

beautiful. Good-night."