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At all events I said to her: "'Kate, we had got so far even then 'my uncle hasn't another bottle of port in his cellar. Consider what a state General Fortescue will be in soon. He'll be tipsy for want of it. Will you come and help me to find a bottle or two? "She rose at once, with a white-rose blush so delicate I don't believe any one saw it but myself.
On a sudden dere was a man right 'longside ob me, an' he say, 'Make a noise or move, an' you are dead. What are you doin' here? I gasp out, 'White-rose, Cap'n Lane. 'Oh, it's you, he say, wid a low larf. Fo' I could speak dere come a scream, sich as I neber heared, den anoder an' anoder.
Some women are so disloyal! She has hurt me to the heart." Vanno glanced down impatiently, and saw the woman who had been with Mary on her first night at the Casino. He remembered the faded, white-rose face, with its peevish crumples that were not yet lines, and the false little smile that tried to draw attention away from them.
But as the major threw a glance round he began to comprehend, and the clearer the riddle grew, the more his eyes were dimmed with tears. Before each of nine of the places stood a white-rose bouquet under a glass shade the last of freshly gathered flowers; the roses of the others were dry, faded, and yellow.
He smile an' say, 'Tell de young lady dat I drink to her health an' happier times. Den I gits up my co'age an' says, 'Cap'n Lane, I wants ter see yer when my work's done in de house. He say, 'All right, come ter me here. Den he look at me sharp an' say, 'Can I trus' yer? An' I say, 'Yes, Mass'r Cap'n; I'se Linkum, troo an' troo. Den he whisper in my ear de password, 'White-rose."
A rival! He laughed silently, grimly, remembering the resentful, jealous impulse that had prompted his interruption when the boyish, handsome face of Beauvayse had leaned so near to hers, and the blush that dyed her white-rose cheeks had answered, no doubt, to some hackneyed, stereotyped, garrison compliment.
"No, my child; no," Madame von Marwitz smiled down into her eyes, passing her hand lightly over the little white-rose wreath. "I have seen you, and seen you happy; that is happiness enough for me. Good-night, Mr. Jardine. Karen will come with me." Pausing for no further farewells, Madame von Marwitz passed from the room with a majestic, generalized bending of the head.
"I wonder you have not more pride!" Madame d'Ambre reproached the four, her white-rose cheeks flushing with annoyance. "Pride does not buy us supper, or new hats," the girl with golden hair reminded her. "Oh, please take these, and do whatever you like with them," Mary said hastily, her voice quivering with shyness and compassion.
Hawthorne, listening with breathless interest, made no sound that urged him to go on. The fact he had announced seemed solemn to both alike, with the vision floating between them of Brenda's white-rose face and deer's eyes, the feeling they had in common that Brenda, for indefinable reasons, was not like ordinary mortals, and that what she felt was more significant, more important.
An unlucky fit of vanity induced Timéa to wait to do this till the major arrived. For a young widow the lace cap is what the orange-blossoms are to a girl. But the major was late because the white-rose bouquet was late in arriving from Vienna: this was the second fête-day bouquet in one year.
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