When Pansy went to dress for dinner she was so particular that the maid
smiled, and thought:
“Her husband has been gone all day, and she wishes to look her best
this evening.”
But Pansy, looking for Norman Wylde’s appearance every hour, was
anxious to appear as beautiful as possible in the eyes of the man who
had wronged her so deeply.
A lovely dress of cream-colored mull and Valenciennes lace was donned.
The sleeves were short, and the bodice was a low V neck. She wore no
ornaments, except a diamond locket on the black velvet band at her
throat and a bunch of creamy-white roses at her slender waist. Thus
attired, she was so dazzlingly lovely when she descended to the parlor
that Juliette fairly hated her, and could scarcely keep from saying so.
Colonel Falconer came in presently, with his kind, intelligent face
and fine military bearing, and was charmed with the beauty of the two
girls, for Juliette looked her best in a dress of black net with pearl
jewelry.
“It is a pity for so much loveliness to be wasted on an old fellow like
me. I hope we shall have some callers after dinner,” he said gayly.
After dinner he begged Juliette to give them some music, but, with a
malicious glance at Pansy, she exclaimed:
“I do not like to touch the piano, as I am sure your wife plays ever so
much better than I do.”
Pansy smiled, and answered coolly:
“Then your musical attainments must be very superficial, indeed, Miss
Ives, for I only know enough of music to play my own accompaniments to
a few songs.”
“Then you will give us a song, won’t you, and I will play afterward?”
cried artful Juliette, thinking that here, at least, she could outshine
her uncle’s wife.
“Certainly,” Pansy answered carelessly, and moved toward the piano,
secure in her consciousness of an exquisitely sweet voice, which had
had careful culture when she was a simple schoolgirl, before her father
died.
Colonel Falconer leaned against the piano, with his back to the door,
and Juliette began to turn over the piles of music.
“Don’t trouble yourself. I will sing some little thing from memory,”
said Pansy.
Juliette flung herself into an easy-chair and listened with a sneer,
saying to herself:
“I would not try to play if I knew nothing but a few accompaniments.”
But when that low, sweet, thrilling voice broke the silence, she
started in wonder and delight, for she was intensely fond of music, and
Pansy’s touch and voice were both exquisite.
No one noticed that the door had opened to admit visitors, who paused
uncertainly on the threshold, to listen, too, for all were absorbed in
the singer.
At last the white hands dropped from the piano keys, the thrilling
voice became silent. Touched in spite of herself, Juliette said softly:
“Oh, how sweet and sad! You have brought tears to my eyes, Mrs.
Falconer.”
Before Pansy could reply, all three became aware that visitors were
advancing into the room.
“Oh, Mrs. Wylde, I am so glad to see you--and you, too, Rosalind. Oh,
Judge Wylde, it was so kind of you and Norman to come!” rattled quickly
from Juliette’s lips, as she hastened to welcome the newcomers.
Colonel Falconer also greeted the visitors as if they were old friends,
and hastened to present his wife.
She, the poor little factory girl whom they had scorned, stood by her
husband’s side like a queen, and greeted his friends with a calm and
stately dignity that made a profound impression. She glanced only
slightly at Norman Wylde, or she would have seen that he was terribly
agitated. When their hands touched each other both were cold as ice.
When all were seated, Pansy saw that he had retreated to a distant
corner, and, as the conversation proceeded, he took little or no part
in it. He was almost stricken speechless by her marvelous likeness
to one he had loved and lost, and, but for the interval for thought
afforded him while she was singing, he could not have preserved his
calmness; he must have spoken out on the spur of the moment, and
claimed her, as Mr. Finley had done, as Pansy Laurens.
When he had first beheld the beautiful face in profile from the door
his senses had almost reeled; but before her song ceased he had
persuaded himself that he was mistaken in thinking her the counterpart
of Pansy. She was more beautiful, more distinguished-looking. Pansy
had been very shy and bashful, but this girl held her small head high.
There was a likeness--a great one--but nothing more. One was the
wayside rose, the other the cultivated flower.
From his distant seat he watched the lovely face and form with a
throbbing heart. How the rich, creamy-hued robe and diamond locket set
off the flowerlike face, with its background of dark, rippling hair.
The beautiful white hands played with some rose petals she had plucked
from her belt, and he noticed how small they were, with pink palms and
finger tips, dimpled at the joint, like a child’s. Pansy had had just
such dainty hands, although she was only a working girl.
“I wish I had not come,” he thought, with bitter pain. “Mrs. Falconer’s
face has brought everything back. Oh, how am I to bear it? Does
Juliette see the likeness, I wonder? Surely not, or else she could
scarcely endure to be haunted so by the image of one she hated.”
Pansy, on her part, felt a bitter triumph in seeing that he took such
slight notice of Juliette. Surely he did not care for her, else his
eyes would have wandered to her face sometimes, for it was plain to be
seen that she worshiped him.
“He does not care for her,” Pansy said to herself, as she saw how
carelessly he answered the remarks Juliette addressed to him. “He has a
fickle heart.”
And she gazed with silent admiration at her noble husband, who loved
her so devotedly, and who had not been too proud to marry a simple
working girl and lift her to his own station in life. Although she did
not love him in a romantic fashion, she admired his noble, manly nature
more and more daily.
And she found a bitter satisfaction in seeing that her betrayer did not
look so gay and debonair as in the past. He was certainly altered; his
face was pale and grave, his eyes were sad and serious.