"
"That is joyful news." Another set was forming, and he rose with hand
extended to Helene. "You said you were sure she would not refuse," he
responded to her look of blank amaze; and then, as she yielded to the
irresistible entreaty in his eyes, he murmured softly, "How could you
imagine I had any other preference but you?"
"One imagines a great many strange things," she replied. "Once I
fancied that you preferred an Indian girl."
"_How could you_!" he repeated with intense emphasis. All that part of
his life seemed vague and far away as though he had dreamed it in some
prehistoric period of his existence. It refused to take the hues and
proportion of reality. Yes, that was nothing but a wild fantastic
dream--the sort of dream from which one wakes with a wretchedly bad
taste in the mouth. This rare girl, with the flower-like curves and
colours, was the only reality. And yet, was she reality? Her dress,
wreathed flame-like from warm white shoulders to satin shod feet, lay
in rich glowing lengths upon the waxed and polished floor. Her
beautiful head, too heavily weighted with braids and coils of raven
blackness, swayed slumberously upon the dainty white neck, and he
could not tell whether he better liked to see the dark lashes lying
upon her cheeks or uplifted to reveal the magical eyes beneath.
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