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"I made the most of my time last night after receiving Mark's telegram, and had it modernized somewhat," she said. "And I brought your pearls, for you know you will be most as much a bride as Katy, and I have a pride in seeing my son's wife appropriately dressed." Far different were Helen's feelings now, as she donned the elegant dress, from what they had been the first and only time she wore it.
You can take the time, can't you, Katy?" Katy could. Mrs. Ashe turned to leave them, but suddenly stopped short. "Katy, look! Isn't that a picture!" The "picture" was Amy, who had come to the Piazza with Mrs. Swift, to feed the doves of St. Mark's, which was one of her favorite amusements.
"Oh pshaw!" exclaimed Jack at length, "I'm not going to sit here this way! I'm going up and take a look. It can't bite me, and if that man's in there I can give him some sort of a talk that will make it look all right. I'm going closer. Maybe Mark's inside there, waiting for me, though it's queer why he didn't keep his agreement and wait for me at the barn. Well, here goes."
Mortemer is only being polite," said Mark. "No, no, my dear boy, on the contrary I meant absolutely what I said." He seemed worried by Mark's distrust of his sincerity, and for the rest of lunch he laid himself out to entertain his less important guest, talking with a slight excess of charm about the lack of vitality, loss of influence, and oriental barbarism of the Orthodox Church.
As the day continued calm, Mark was in no hurry, but passed half an hour in sounding the little bay that was formed by the sunken rocks that lay off the eastern, or weather end of the Crater Reef, as, in a spirit of humility, he insisted on calling that which everybody else now calls Mark's Reef.
Dan was trying to get to Effie through a gap in the group formed by the Manistys and two young subalterns, Mark's friends. Each time he did it Mrs. Draper stopped him by moving somehow so as to fill the gap. He gave it up at last, to sit by himself at the bottom of the room, jammed into a corner between the chimney-piece and the rosewood cabinet, where he stared at Effie with hot, unhappy eyes.
Papa had left the dining-room. Mary sat at the foot of the table, and her mother at the head. The space between was covered and piled with Mark's kit: the socks, the pocket-handkerchiefs, the vests, the fine white pyjamas. The hanging white globes of the gaselier shone on them. All day Mary had been writing "M.E. Olivier, M.E. Olivier," in clear, hard letters, like print.
There was no one with them when at last Mark's horse dashed from the yard over the creaking snow, leaving Helen alone upon the doorstep, with the glittering stars shining above her head and her husband's farewell kiss wet upon her lips. "When shall we meet again?" she sobbed, gazing up at the clear blue sky, as if to find the answer there.
"Of sending you, just now, in the church of Saint Mark's, a letter which you were seen to read openly and thrust in your bosom. The incident was witnessed by his Illustriousness the Marquess Zanipolo, who, in consequence, has already repudiated his unhappy bride." Tony stared contemptuously at the black Marquess. "That, my dear young gentleman, is hardly for you to decide.
She had had accordingly in fact as little to do with it as possible and she scarce knew why at the present moment she should have had to catch herself in the act of imputing an ugly motive. It didn't sit, the ugly motive, in Lord Mark's cool English eyes; the darker side of it at any rate showed, to her imagination, but briefly.
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