"I won't colour it this morning; it must be quite an hour and a half
since I began; but the worst is done, and that's worth a king's ransom."
In the escape from work, the innocent gaiety of her heart, she broke into
a song, and began waltzing round the room. Barely had she passed the open
window, her back turned to it, when a gentleman came up, looked in,
stepped softly over the threshold, and imprisoned her by the waist.
"Be quiet, Arthur. Pick up that mignonette-pot you threw down, sir."
"My darling!" came in a low, heartfelt whisper. And Miss Ashton, with a
faint cry, turned to see her engaged lover, Val Elster.
She stood before him, literally unable to speak in her great
astonishment, the red roses going and coming in her delicate cheeks,
the rich brown eyes, that might have been too brilliant but for their
exceeding sweetness, raised questioningly to his. Mr. Elster folded her
in his arms as if he would never release her again, and kissed the
shrinking face repeatedly.
"Oh, Percival, Percival! Don't! Let me go."
He did so at last, and held her before him, her eyelids drooping now,
to gaze at the face he loved so well--yes, loved fervently and well, in
spite of his follies and sins. Her heart was beating wildly with its own
rapture: for her the world had suddenly grown brighter.
"But when did you arrive?" she whispered, scarcely knowing how to utter
the words in her excessive happiness.
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