Flattered--oh, Lord!" He limped the conclusion, and left for
England that night.
She felt the thing to have been rather ridiculous, and yet she was
pleased. She was gently elated, and had a kindly eye for herself as she
dressed before her glass. Power lay with her; she could choose and weigh,
accept or refuse. She was loveworthy yet. In spite of her disaster, a man
had sought her. Others would do that same, moved by what had moved him.
Shining eyes, body's form, softness, roundness--she had hardly thought of
these things before, nor looked at them with an eye to their value. Mr.
Worthington's ardent glances had illuminated her own, and by-and-by she
found, oddly enough, that they threw a backward beam, and illuminated
others. She found herself smiling tenderly as she thought of Jack
Senhouse, and repeating some of that poetry which he had literally poured
into her lap. It was so long ago! But when she remembered how much it had
puzzled her, she now found that she was not puzzled by it at all.
Your eyes are twin mountain lakes, and the lashes of them
Like the swishing sedge
That hideth the water's edge....
Were her eyes, then, so fair! Mr. Worthington had found them so.
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