"
"Nonsense. How could that have reached him?"
"Those things do get around. Do you know what he's going to do? He's
going to cut your comb. My aunt--she cried like anything."
To Truesdale the girl's tone seemed preposterously confidential. "You
were in the wrong," she seemed to imply; "but I am on your side for all
that."
"Ouf!" said Truesdale; "this comes of trenching on Biblical ground. I'll
never quote scripture again."
Truesdale had gone to the Belden house in pursuance of the invitation
extended at his mother's own tea-table. Eliza Marshall had made a faint
effort to dissuade him; despite Mrs. Belden's presence at her own
function, his going seemed, in one way or another, too much like an
excursion into the enemy's country. But the occasion was a fancy-dress
ball, and Truesdale declared himself much too curious to remain away. "I
must go," he said, and at once took steps to equip himself for this
voyage of discovery.
He wore the dress of a Spanish grandee of the early seventeenth
century--he recalled the Spaniards as famous explorers. He was in black
throughout, save for the white lace of his wide collar and cuffs, and for
the dark purple lining of his mantle. If the Beldens, for their part, had
costumed themselves half so discreetly, he would never have fallen from
their good graces. But Statira Belden (keeping her own given name in
view) had based her costume upon one of the old French tapestries--the
Family of Darius at the Feet of Alexander; you may see the original, a
Veronese, in the National Gallery.
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