Part 13 (1/2)
”You loved him--old Sir Henry?”
Her eyes were dewy.
”I loved him--and promised.”
She rose, touching his arm as the band struck up a fresh measure.
”You will lead me through the minuet?”
He bowed.
She did not meet his glance just then. A stately dance--too stately for some of the younger beaux who leant back, lolling against the walls.
Lord Denningham, side by side with Marcel Trouet, was looking vicious.
That dark-faced fellow--the younger Berrington--was as handsome as he was sour and strait-laced; a suit of peach-coloured velvet suited him to perfection.
Yet Lord Denningham's glance was not one of admiration.
The young devil--his rival--could smile too on occasion, it seemed, whilst Gabrielle was dimpling with happy smiles.
The minuet was over at last, and the ballroom insufferably hot. At least so Gabrielle declared, as her partner led her down the wide staircase and out through the open window on to the lawns.
A lake, surrounded by choice shrubs, and a seat under shelter of the rockery near, proved an ideal halting-place, whilst moonlight was good for dreams and fairy visions. Michael half lay on the gra.s.s at her feet.
”My primroses are faded,” she said suddenly, coming back from dreamland to look into the dark face upturned to meet her gaze. ”You did not come again to help me gather them.”
”And now it is too late?”
The pa.s.sion vibrating through the whisper stirred her pulses as the moonlight had failed to do.
”Spring is over.”
”And summer is here.”
”My roses have thorns. I do not gather many alone. See how one tore my finger but yesterday.”
He took the little hand in his, and, growing bolder, or more desperate, held the scarred finger to his lips.
She drew it away, laughing.
”If you had been there----”
”Ah, mistress, if I might be always there to pluck the thorns away, so that for you life might have only roses.”
”Nay, you might hurt your own hands, and I would not have that. But you shall come with me to Barham woods to gather the honeysuckle that grows there. It is sweet, without cruel p.r.i.c.kings, yet sometimes it twines out of reach. You shall help me.”
He did not answer, for very fear of saying too much, and thus frightening her with the pa.s.sion which he needs must hold in check as a strong man reins back restive steed.
But perhaps she guessed what he might say, and, woman-like, tempted him on.