She believed she could hope for nothing from him; and yet, did not
that belief leave her hopeless? To what else, to whom else could
she turn? Nothing else, no one else then seemed to promise any help,
any happiness. Her wretched experience had come as unexpectedly as
one of those mysterious waves that sweep the sunny shore of Peru.
Whither it would carry her she did not know, but every moment separated
her more hopelessly from him who appeared like an immovable rock
in his quiet strength.
She was turning despondently away when she heard Jennie Burton's
voice, and a moment later that young lady mounted the adjacent
steps and said to Van Berg:
"See what a prize I captured at this late season. Roses early in
August are like hidden treasures. See, they are genuine hybrids.
Have I not had rare good fortune?"
Van Berg rose at once, and met her at the top of the steps; and
Ida, who still remained unseen in the hall, now stepped forward
into the doorway, so that she might not seem a furtive listener,
as he was standing with his back towards her.
"Had I my way, Miss Burton," said the artist, "you should have this
rare good fortune every day of the year.
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