yes, that was Mrs. Mayhew's
parlor into which he was shown. It did not suggest the maiden who
had come to visit, nor the quiet, dignified gentleman Mr. Mayhew was
seen to be when at the touch of love's wand a degrading vice fell
away from him. But the artist could find no fault with the host
who greeted him promptly, and when, a few moments later, there was
a breezy rustle on the stairs and he turned to greet his hostess,
his face flushed with admiration and pleasure. It became evident
that the worshipper of beauty was in the presence of his divinity,
and his every glance burned incense to her honor. She had twined
a few rose-leaves in her hair, but wore no other ornament save
the rose he had given her in the morning, which evidently had been
kept carefully for the occasion, for it was unchanged, with the
exception that it revealed its heart a little more openly, as did
Ida herself. And yet she did her best to insure that her manner
should be no more cordial than her character of hostess demanded.
But in spite of all she could do, the light of exultation and
intense joy would flash into her eyes and tremble in her tones that
evening. A maiden would have been blind indeed had she not been
able to read the riddle of Van Berg's ardent friendship now, and
Ida had seen that expression too often not to know its meaning
well.
Pages:
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635