A hushed sound, as of rustling silk, made him pause, then, at the head
of the path, where another joined it, Isabel appeared, with white roses
in her hair and the moon shining full upon her face. The spangles on her
gown caught the light and broke it into a thousand tiny rainbows,
surrounding her with faint iridescence.
The old, immortal hunger surged into his veins, the world-old joy made
his senses reel. He steadied himself for a moment, then went to her,
with his arms outstretched in pleading.
"Oh, Silver Girl," he whispered, huskily. "My Silver Girl! Tell me
you'll shine for me always!"
[Illustration: musical notation.]
The last chord ceased, full of yearning that was almost prayer. Then
Isabel, cold as marble and passionless as snow, lifted her face for his
betrothal kiss.
XIII
WHITE GLOVES
With shyness that did not wholly conceal her youthful pride, Isabel told
Madame, a few days later. The little old lady managed to smile and to
kiss Isabel's soft cheek, murmuring the conventional hope for her
happiness. Inwardly, she was far from calm, though deeply thankful that
Rose did not happen to be in the room.
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