I should have hated that, if it hadn't been for the thought
of the portraits coming to her eyes, with my name under them; 'Victoria
Ray, who is dancing in such and such a place.' _She_ would know why I
was doing it; dancing nearer and nearer to her."
"You darling!" Stephen would have liked to say. But only as he might
have spoken caressingly to a lovely child whose sweet soul had won him.
She seemed younger than ever to-day, in the big, drooping hat, with the
light behind her weaving a gold halo round her hair and the slim white
figure, as she talked of Saidee in the golden silence. When she looked
up at him, he thought that she was like a girl-saint, painted on a
background of gold. He felt very tender over her, very much older than
she, and it did not occur to him that he might fall in love with this
young creature who had no thought for anything in life except the
finding of her sister.
A tiny streak of lily-pollen had made a little yellow stain on the white
satin of her cheek, and under her blue eyes were a few faint freckles,
golden as the lily-pollen. He had seen them come yesterday, on the ship,
in a bright glare of sunlight, and they were not quite gone yet. He had
a foolish wish to touch them with his finger, to see if they would rub
off, and to brush away the lily-pollen, though it made her skin look
pure as pearl.
"You are an inspiration!" was all he said.
"I? But how do you mean?" she asked.
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