red like a vision from some former dull
existence, and left behind it an echo of insupportable ennui.

XII

Isabel had looked forward all day to the promised talk with the somewhat
formidable relative for whom, however, she had conceived one of those
enthusiasms peculiar to her age and sex. Her wardrobe was barren of the
costly afternoon gowns smart women affect, but she put on an organdie,
billowy with many ruffles, that consorted with the season, at least.
Blue cornflowers were scattered over the white transparent surface, and
she possessed no more becoming frock. Had she been on her way to a tryst
with Lord Hexam she would have thrust a rose in her hair, accentuated
the smallness of her waist with a blue ribbon, the whiteness of her
throat with a line of black velvet; but she had the instinct of dress,
which teaches, among many things, that self-consciousness in external
adornment provokes amusement in other women.

She had not the least idea where to find Lady Victoria's boudoir,
although a casual reference by Flora Thangue suggested that it was on
the bedroom floor. She lost herself in the interminable corridors and
finally ran into Elton Gwynne.

"Your mother expects me--where is her boudoir?" she asked.

He was at peace with the world, and answered, good-naturedly: "I'll
pilot you. Her rooms are over on the other side."

"You look as if you should be congratulated about something," she said,
demurely. "There are all sorts of rumors flying about."

She had half-expected to be snubbed, but he was not in the humor to snub
anybody. "You can congratulate me!" he said, emphatically. "The most
wonderful woman in the world has promised to marry me."

"I hope you will be happy," said Isabel, conventionally. She resented
his sudden drop from his pedestal, for he looked sentimental and
somewhat sheepish. Still, her youth warmed to his in spite of herself,
and again he noticed with a passing surprise that her eyes were both
lovely and intellectual. He was hardly aware that coincidentally his
Julia's eyes met his mental vision with a glance somewhat too hard and
brilliant, but he caught Isabel's hand and gave it a little shake.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed. "That was said as if you jolly well meant it.
There are my mother's rooms."

He went off whistling, and Isabel raised her hand and looked at it
meditatively; his own had been unexpectedly warm and magnetic. She had
imagined that his grasp would be cold and