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"Stay!" exclaimed Donna Tullia; "I can go to confession another time. Will not you come with me to Gouache's studio? I am going to sit. It is such a bore to go alone." "Thank you very much," said Corona, civilly. "I am afraid I cannot go. My husband expects me at home. I wish you a good sitting." "Well, good-bye. Oh, I forgot to tell you, we had such a charming picnic yesterday.
"It encourages and cheers me. We are what we are; and if we can be more fully what we are than we have been, then we are more truly ourselves than before." "And what can be nobler," cried Corona, "than to be, in the most distinctive sense of the term, ourselves?" Mr. and Mrs. Archibald walked together towards their cabin.
"I think," said Mrs. Archibald, somewhat severely, "that our duty to our fellow-beings is far more important than our selfish consideration of ourselves." "But reflect," cried Corona, "how much consideration we give to our fellow-beings, and how little to ourselves as ourselves, each one.
Miss Corona thrilled at the thought. The rosebush had bloomed again for a Gordon bride, but Miss Corona was sure there was another meaning in it too; she believed it foretokened some change in her own life, some rejuvenescence of love and beauty like to that of the ancient rose-tree. She bent over its foam of loveliness almost reverently. "They have bloomed for Juliet's wedding," she murmured.
Padre Filippo was to her the living proof of the possibility of human goodness, as faith is to us all the evidence of things not seen. Corona was in trouble now in a trouble so new that she hardly understood it, so terrible and yet so vague that she felt her peril imminent.
A bird, his sleek plumage iridescent in the sunlight, was perched on the big chestnut bough that ran squarely across the window, singing as if his heart would burst with melody and the joy of his tiny life. No bride could have wished anything fairer for her day of days, and Miss Corona dropped back on her pillows with another gentle sigh.
Corona waited a few minutes, and then went back to the sitting-room, which was at the end of the long suite of apartments. The result was that she met Anastase in one of the rooms on his way out, preceded by the footman, who went on towards the hall after his mistress had passed. Corona and Gouache were left face to face and quite alone in the huge dim drawing- room.
He was not quite sure whether it was respectful to Corona to think of carrying her off in the way his father suggested; but there was a curious flavour of possibility in the suggestion, coming as it did from a man whose grandfather might have done such a thing, and whose great-grandfather was said to have done it.
"I do not think the Corona Company is responsible for this announcement," said Uncle John. "It is probably an idea of the theatre proprietor, who hoped to attract big business in that way." "He has succeeded," grumbled Arthur, as he took his place at the end of a long line of ticket buyers. The picture, as it flashed on the screen, positively thrilled them.
It was time!" Corona was as white as death, and her black eyes shone like coals of fire. Her words came slowly, every accent clear and strong with concentrated passion. "I have not betrayed you. I have spoken no word of love to any man alive, and you know that I speak the truth. If any one has said to me what should not be said, I have rebuked him to silence.
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