"I knew one that did," replied Lady Earle. "When I was young, I had a friend whom I loved very dearly--Laura Reardon. A gentleman, a Captain Lemuel, paid great attention to her. She loved him--my poor Laura--as I hope few people love. For many months he did everything but make an offer--saw her ever day, sent her flowers, books, and music, won her heart by a thousand sweet words and gentle deeds. She believed he was in earnest, and never suspected him of being a male flirt. He left London, suddenly, saying goodbye to her in the ordinary way, and speaking of his return in a few weeks.
"She came to me one morning and told me a strange dream. She dreamed she was dead, and lay buried in the center aisle of an old country church. At the same time, and in the usual vague manner of dreams, she was conscious of an unusual stir. She heard carriages drive up to the church door; she heard the rustling of dresses, the sound of footsteps above her head, the confused murmur of a crowd of people; then she became aware that a marriage was going on. She heard the minister ask:
"'George Victor Lemuel, will you have this woman for your lawful wedded wife?'
"The voice she knew and loved best in the world replied:
"'I will.'
"'Alice Ferrars, will you take this man for your lawful wedded husband?"
"'I will,' replied the clear, low voice.
"She heard the service finished, the wedding bells peal, the carriages drive away. I laughed at her, Beatrice; but the strange thing is, Captain George Lemuel was married on the very day Laura dreamed the dream. He married a young lady, Alice Ferrars, and Laura had never heard of the name before she dreamed it. The marriage took place in an old country church. That dream came true, Beatrice; I never heard of another dream like it."
"Did your friend die?" she asked.
"No," replied Lady Helena; "she did not die, but her life was spoiled by her unhappy love."
"I should have died had it been my disappointment," said Beatrice; "the loss of what one loves must be more bitter than death."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Far and near nothing was spoken of but the ball at Earlescourt.
Anything so brilliant or on so grand a scale had not been given in the county for many years.
Lord Earle felt proud of the arrangements as he looked through the ball room and saw the gorgeous array of flowers, tier upon tier of magnificent bloom, a sight well worth coming many miles to see. Here and there a marble statue stood amid the flowers.
Little fountains of scented water rippled musically. He stopped for a few moments looking at the blossoms and thinking of his beautiful child.
"How she loves everything bright and gay!" he said to himself.
"She will be queen of the ball tonight."
As Lord Earle stood alone in his library that evening, where he had been reading, stealing a quiet half hour, there came a gentle knock at the door.
"Come in," he said, and there stood before him something that he thought must be a vision.
"Grandmamma sent me," said Beatrice, blushing, "to see if I should do. You are to notice my diamonds, papa, and tell me if you approve of the setting."
As he looked at the radiant figure a sense of wonder stole over him. Could this magnificent beauty really be Dora's daughter--Dora who had stained her pretty hand with strawberry juice so many years ago?
He knew nothing of the details of the dress, he saw only the beautiful face and glorious eyes, the crowns of waving hair, the white, stately neck and exquisite arms. Before him was a gleam of pale pink satin, shrouded with lace so fine and delicate that it looked like a fairy web; and the Earle diamonds were not brighter than the dark eyes. They became the wearer well. They would have eclipsed a fair, faded beauty; they added radiance to Beatrice's.
"Where is Lillian?" he asked; and she knew from the tone of his voice how proud and satisfied he was.
"I am here, papa," said a gentle voice. "I wanted you to see Beatrice first."
Lord Earle hardly knew which to admire the more. Lillian looked so fair and graceful; the pure, spiritual face and tender eyes had new beauty; the slender, girlish figure contrasted well with the stately dignity of Beatrice.
"I hope it will be a happy evening for you both," he said.
"I feel sure it will for me," said Beatrice, with a smile. "I am thoroughly happy, and am looking forward to the ball with delight."
Lord Earle smiled half sadly as he gazed at her bright face, wondering whether, in years to come, it would be clouded or shadowed.
"Will you dance, papa?" asked Beatrice, with a gleam of mischief in her dark eyes.
"I think not," he replied; and Ronald Earle's thoughts went back to the last time he had ever danced--with Valentine Charteris.
He remembered it well. Ah, no! All those pleasant, happy days were over for him.
