And aloud they spoke of paradise plumes and the new gray, and the merits
and demerits of Callot and Doucet and Jeanne Valez. And the widow said
some bright American things about husbands and the world in general that
conveyed crisp truths.
The drive seemed all too short, and there were their two cavaliers in
the court-yard awaiting them at the Réservoirs, having arrived just
before them.
To the end of her life Theodora will remember that glorious May day. Its
even minutest detail, the color of the chestnut-trees, the tint of the
sky, the scent in the air, every line of his figure and turn of his
head, every look in his eyes--and they were many and varied--and also
and alas! every growing emotion in her own heart. But at the moment all
was gladness, and exquisite, young, irresponsible joy. Sans
arrière-pensée or disquieting reflection.
She wondered which of the two men was the handsomer as she got out of
the automobile--dear, darling papa or Lord Bracondale; both were quite
show creatures of their age, and both were of the same class and
knowledge of savoir-vivre. Every one said such polite and gracious
things, it was all so smooth and gay, and it seemed so natural that they
should take a turn up towards the château while breakfast was being
prepared.
Half-past one o'clock was time enough to eat, the widow said.
"I want to show you a number of spots I love," Hector announced,
choosing a different path to the other pair. "And it is a day we can be
happy in, can't we?"
"I want to be happy," said Theodora.
"Then we shall go no farther now; we shall sit on this seat and admire
the view. See, we are quite alone and undisturbed; all the world has
gone home to breakfast."
Then he looked at her, and though he really did try at this stage to be
reasonable, something of the intense attraction he felt for her blazed
in his eyes.
She was sufficiently delectable a picture to turn the sagest head. There
was something so absolutely pure white about that skin, it seemed good
to eat, flawless, unlined, unblemished, under this brilliant light.
The way her silvery blond hair grew was just the right way a woman's
hair ought to grow, he thought; low on a high, broad brow, rippling and
soft, and quantities of it. What could it be like to caress it, to run
one's fingers through it, to bury one's face in it? Ah! and then there
were her tender eyes, dewy and shadowed with dark lashes, and so
intensely blue. His glance wandered farther afield. Such a figure!
slender and graceful and fine. There was something almost childish about
it all; the innocent look of a very young girl, with the polish of the
woman, garbed by an artist. It seemed the great pearls in her ears were
not more milkily white than her throat, and he was sure were also her
little slender hands, that did not fidget, but lay idly in her lap,
holding her blue parasol. He would like to have taken off her gloves to
see.