The door swung slowly open, and the gray-haired old servitor whom Howard
could remember from childhood, took his card and disappeared down the
hallway.
Presently he returned, and informed the young man that the ladies would
receive him; and Howard, half regretting, when too late, the hasty
impulse that had prompted him enter, was ushered into the drawing-room.
The next moment he found himself returning a stiff, icy bow from his
uncle's widow, a half-embarrassed greeting from Mrs. Carroll, and
shaking hands with the beautiful Lora, who gave him a shy yet perfectly
self-possessed welcome and referred to his visit to the country two
years before in a pretty, _naive_ way, showing that she remembered him
perfectly; although, as she averred, she was little more than a child at
the time.
They sat down, and he and Miss Carroll had the talk mostly to
themselves, though now and then his glance strayed from her bright,
vivacious countenance to the sad, white face of the young widow sitting
beside her mother on the sofa, the dark lashes shading her colorless
cheeks, a sorrowful droop about her beautiful lips as if her thoughts
dwelt on some mournful theme.
Howard had heard people say that she looked ill and pale since Mr. St.
John's death, and that after all she must have cared for him a little.
He knew better than that, of course, yet he could not but acknowledge
that she played the part of a bereaved wife to perfection.
"It looks like real grief," he said to himself; "but, of course, I know
that it is the loss of the money and not the man that weighs her spirits
down so heavily."
"You resemble your sister very much, Miss Carroll," he said to Lora,
after a little while. "If I were an Irishman, I should say that you look
more like your sister than you do like yourself."
The careless, yet odd little speech seemed to have an inexplicable
effect upon Lora Carroll. She started violently, her cheeks lost their
soft, pink color, the bright smile faded from her lips, and she gave the
speaker a keen, half-furtive glance from under her dark-fringed
eyelashes.
She tried to laugh, but it sounded forced and unnatural.
Mrs. Carroll, who had been silently listening, broke in carelessly
before Lora could speak:
"Yes, indeed, Lora and Xenie are exceedingly like each other, Mr.
Templeton. Their aunt, Mrs. Egerton, says that Lora is now the living
image of Xenie, when she first came to the city, two years ago."
"I quite agree with her," Mr. Templeton answered, in a light tone, and
with a bow to Mrs. Carroll. "The resemblance is very striking."
As he spoke, he moved his chair forward, carelessly yet deliberately, so
that he might look into Mrs. St. John's beautiful, pale face.
The young widow did not seem to relish his furtive contemplation. She
flushed slightly, and her white hands clasped and unclasped themselves
nervously, as they lay folded together in her lap.
She turned her head to one side that she might not encounter the full
gaze of his eyes. He smiled to himself at her embarrassment and, turning
from her, allowed his gaze to rest upon the bright fire burning behind
the polished steel bars of the grate.
A momentary unpleasant silence fell upon them all. Lora broke it after a
moment's thought by saying, carelessly, as she opened the piano:
"I remember that you used to sing very well, Mr. Templeton. Won't you
favor us now?"
"Lora, my dear," Mrs. Carroll said, in a gently-shocked voice, "you
forget that music may not be agreeable to your sister so recently
bereaved."
"Oh, Xenie, dear, I beg your pardon," began Lora, turning around, but
Mrs. St. John interrupted her by saying, wearily:
"Never mind, mamma, never mind, Lora. I--I--my head aches--I will retire
if you will excuse me, and then you may have all the music you wish."
She arose from her seat, gave Mr. Templeton a chill, little bow which he
returned as coldly, then went slowly from the room, trailing her sable
robes behind her like a pall.
"As cold as ice, by Jove," was Howard's mental comment; "yet she did not
appear particularly elated over her prospective triumph. Strange!"
He crossed over to the piano where Lora was restlessly turning over some
sheets of music.
"Won't you sing to me, Miss Carroll?" he asked, in a soft, alluring
voice.
Lora sat down on the music-stool and laughed as she ran her white
fingers over the pearl keys.
"Excuse me--I do not sing," she said, carelessly. "But I will play your
accompaniment if you will select a song."
"You do not sing," he said, as he began to turn over the music. "Ah!
there is one point at least in which you do not resemble your sister.
Mrs. St. John has a very fine voice."
"Yes. Xenie's voice has been well trained," she answered, carelessly;
"but I do not care to sing, I would rather hear others."
"How will this please you?" he inquired, selecting a song and laying it
up before her.
She glanced at it and answered composedly:
"As well as any. I remember this song. I heard you sing it with Xenie
that summer."
"Yes, our voices went well together," he answered, as carelessly. "I
wish you would sing it with me now?"
"I cannot, but I will play it for you. Shall we begin now?"
He was silent a moment, looking down at her as she sat there with
down-drooped eyes, the gleam of the firelight and gaslight shining on
the black braids of her hair and the rich, warm-hued dress that was so
very becoming to her dark, bright beauty.
Suddenly he saw something on the white hand that was softly touching the
piano keys. He took the slim fingers in his before she was aware.
"Let me see your ring," he said. "It looks familiar. Ah, it is the one I
gave you that winter when we----"
She threw back her head and looked at him with wide, angry, black eyes.
"What do you mean?" she said imperiously. "Are you crazy, Mr. Templeton?
It is the ring you gave Xenie, certainly, but not me!"
"Lora, love," said her mother's voice from the sofa, in mild reproval.
"Do not be rude to Mr. Templeton."
"Mamma, I don't mean to," said Lora, without turning her head; "but
he--he spoke as if I were Xenie."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Carroll," said the offender, with a teasing
look in his blue eyes, which she did not see; "I did not mean to offend,
but do you know that in talking with you, I constantly find myself under
the impression that I am talking to your sister. It is one effect of the
wonderful resemblance, I presume."
"Yes, I suppose so," admitted Lora; "but," she continued, in a tone of
pretty, girlish pique, "I wish you would try and recollect the
difference. I am two years younger than my sister, remember, and so it
is not a compliment to be taken for a person older than myself!"
"Of course not," said Mr. Templeton, soothingly; "but it was the ring,
please remember, that led me into error this time. You see, I gave it
to----"
"Yes, you gave it to Xenie," broke in Lora, promptly and coolly; "yes, I
know that, but you see she was tired of it, or rather she did not care
for it any more--so she gave it to me."
His face whitened angrily, but he said, with assumed carelessness:
"And you--do you care for it, Miss Carroll?"
She lifted her hand and looked at the flashing ruby with a smile.
"Yes, I like it. It is very handsome, and must have cost a large sum of
money--more than I ever saw, probably, at one time in my life, I
suppose, for I am poor, as you know."
"I thought we were going to have some music, Lora," exclaimed Mrs.
Carroll, gasping audibly over her knitting. "You weary Mr. Templeton
with your idle talk."
"He began it, mamma," said Lora, carelessly. "Well, Mr. Templeton, I'm
going to begin the accompaniment. Get ready."
She touched the keys with skillful fingers, waking a soft, melancholy
prelude, and Howard sang in his full, rich, tenor voice:
"'Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing!
Beauty passes like a breath, and love is lost in loathing;
Low, my lute; speak low, my lute, but say the world is nothing--
Low, lute, low!
"'Love will hover round the flowers when they first awaken;
Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not be overtaken;
Low, my lute! oh, low, my lute! we fade and are forsaken--
Low, dear lute, low!'"
"The poet has very happily blended truth and poesy in that very pathetic
song," remarked Lora, with a touch of careless scorn in her voice, as
the rich notes ceased. "Well, Mr. Templeton, will you try another song?"
"No, thank you, Miss Carroll--I must be going. I have already trespassed
upon your time and patience."
Lora did not gainsay the assertion.
She rose with an almost audible sigh of relief, and stood waiting for
him to say good-night.
"May I come and see you again?" he asked, as he bowed over the delicate
hand that wore his ruby ring.
"I--we--that is, mamma and I--are going away soon. It may
not--perhaps--be convenient for us to receive you again," stammered
Lora, hesitating and blushing like the veriest school-girl.
"Ah! I am sorry," he said; "well, then, good-night, and good-bye."
He shook hands with both, holding Lora's hand a trifle longer than
necessary, then courteously turned away.
When he was gone, the beautiful girl knelt down by her mother and lifted
her flushed and brilliant face with a look of inquiry upon it.
"Well, mamma?" she questioned, gravely.
Mrs. Carroll smiled encouragingly.
"My dear, you acted splendidly," she said, "and so did your sister. I
was afraid at first. I thought you were wrong to admit him. It was a
terrible test, for the eyes of hatred are even keener than those of
love. I trembled for you at first, but you stood the trial nobly. He was
completely hoodwinked. No fear now. If you could blind Howard Templeton
to the truth, there can be no trouble with the rest of the world."
"And yet once or twice I was terribly frightened," said the girl
musingly. "The looks he gave me, the tones of his voice, sometimes his
very words, made me tremble with fear. It was, as you say, a terrible
test, but I am glad now that I risked it, for I believe that I have
succeeded in blinding him. All goes well with us, mamma. Doctor Shirley
and Howard Templeton have been completely deceived. The rest will be
very easy of accomplishment."