For she, too, had felt fair when she had gazed in her tiny mirror; the yellowed linen gown had gleamed pure and white, her young breast had swelled above the waist that looked so slim, and that was so finely girt....  Yet, now, something of splendour about Miss Le Pettit that she could not attain dimmed all herself and, with herself, her joy.  Her face, already flushed by her walk, burned deeper still with shame.  Yet the desire that three weeks of striving had swollen to a passion urged her forward, and, fingering the lovely thing about her waist to gain courage, she broke through the last ring of staring people and stood in front of Miss Le Pettit.

The heiress of Ignores had not yet caught sight of her, being engaged in laughing conversation with several admiring gentlemen, but something of an almost painful intensity in the dark gaze of the village girl drew her face to meet it.  The black eyes, so full of an extravagant passion, met the careless glance of the blue orbs that knew not even the passing shadow of such a thing.

“Oh,” stammered Loveday, the set speech she had been conning all the way to Bugletown dying upon her lips, “Oh, Miss Flora, I’m come.  I’ve got my white sash and I’m come....”

Over Flora’s face passed a look of bewilderment, while Loveday, her moment of self-criticism gone, stood trembling with eager happiness.  Then Miss Le Pettit spoke, lightly and kindly.

“Surely I have seen you before, my girl?” she asked.  And, turning to the little group of her friends, added: 

“She has such a striking air, ’twould be difficult to forget her.”

Yet, till this moment, Miss Le Pettit had forgotten everything save that air.  Forgotten her careless suggestion, her prettily given promise, her praise.  Forgotten even the pleasant glow such evident worship as this village girl’s had stirred in her.  She had had so much worship since!  Who can blame her for not remembering some idle words her artistic perceptions had prompted three weeks earlier?  It had been a fantastic suggestion at best, as a girl of sense would have known, treasuring it merely for its kindly intention.  After all, Miss Le Pettit would be far more conspicuous dancing with a village maiden at the Flora than with a gentleman suited to her in rank and estate.  Since that day at Upper Farm she had met just such a gentleman—­he with the glossy whiskers and handsome form who was nearest to her now, smiling at this little encounter.

“Why, child,” said Flora to Loveday, “you look very nice, I am sure.  But your place should be much further down the procession.”  Then, more sharply:  “Why do you stare so, girl?”

Loveday stood as one stricken, her cheek now as white as the sash she was still holding in her shaking hands.

CHAPTER XII:  IN WHICH LOVEDAY DANCES

Chapter XII

IN WHICH LOVEDAY DANCES