She was
alluring even in her indifference, graceful, elegant, angelic--but an
angel carved in ice. "I have been so unfortunate as to offend you," he
said at parting, as they stood alone in the soft, moonless, summer
dusk.
"I don't know; is it a matter of much importance?" There was an accent
of weariness in her voice, but the tone was hard.
"Yes, to me. You are as cold as death!"
"What a very unpleasant fancy!" She shivered lightly, and extended the
tips of her very chilly fingers to him in a last good-night.
Mademoiselle Helene was intensely proud. She had been an unobserved
witness of the scene between Edward and Wanda in the wood, and, of
course, had made her own misinterpretation. A man who could permit a
low, untutored savage to fawn upon him in that way, kissing his hand
repeatedly, and flushing with gratified vanity, presumably at his
words of endearment, could scarcely expect to be treated otherwise
than with disdain by the high-bred girl whom he had previously
delighted to honour. As for Edward he was sorely hurt and bewildered.
Helene's treatment of him he considered decidedly curt, and natural
resentment burned within him at the thought.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149