She did
not know why, after a time, her proud, bright eyes drooped, and
had never met Lord Airlie's gaze, why her face flushed and grew
pale, why his words woke a new, strange, beautiful music in her
heart--music that never died until--
"I ask for one spray--only one--to keep in memory of this
pleasant hour," said Lord Airlie, after a pause.
She gave him a spray of the delicate golden bells.
"I should like to be curious and rude," he said, "and ask if you
ever gave any one a flower before?"
"No," she replied.
"Then I shall prize this doubly," he assured her.
That evening Lord Airlie placed the golden blossom carefully
away. The time came when he would have parted with any treasure
on earth rather than that.
But his question had suddenly disturbed Beatrice. For a moment
her thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford. The present
faded from her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he
offered her the beautiful lily. The very remembrance of it made
her shudder as though seized with deathly cold--and Lord Airlie
saw it.
"You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing
here!" He helped her to draw the costly lace shawl around her
shoulders, and Beatrice was quickly herself again, and they
returned to the ball room; but Lord Airlie lingered by Miss
Earle.
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