But your son picks it up.
Lucky fellow! He picks it up!" He told Miss Vance that
there was a curious attraction about her friend, "who, by
the way, should always wear brown velvet and lace."
Miss Vance drew little Lucy aside after dinner. "Do you
see," she said, "the tears in her eyes? It wrenches my
heart. She has become an old woman in a day. I feel as
if Frances were dead, and that was her ghost joking and
laughing."
Lucy said nothing, but she went to Frances and sat beside
her all evening. When the prince arrived and was
presented, going on his triumphant way through the room,
she nestled closer, whispering, "What do you think of
him?"
"He looks very like our little fat Dutch baker in
Weir--he has the same air of patronage," said Frances
coldly. She was offended that Lucy should notice the man
at all. Was it not she whom George should have married?
How happy they would have been--her boy and this
sweet, neat little girl! And already Lucy was curious
about so-called princes!
When his Highness came back to them she rose hastily and
went to her own room.
Late that night Miss Vance found her there in the dark,
sitting bolt upright in her chair, still robed in velvet
and lace. Clara regarded her sternly, feeling that it
was time to take her in hand.
"You have not forgiven George?" she said abruptly.
Mrs. Waldeaux looked up, but said nothing.
"Is he coming back soon?"
"He never shall come back while that woman is with him.
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