asking for you, Sally. I came to see the ballroom—I had heard so much about it. I couldn't wait—"
She was talking with an excitement which was not usual. She was lighted, too, by excitement. She seemed incandescent. The effect was startling. Merry's breath came quick at the sight of her beauty.
"Sally," she was saying, "I never dreamed of such a house. It's wonderful."
But Sally was not interested in talk of the house. "Hildegarde," she demanded, "who planned that costume for you?"
"Aunt Anne."
"Do you know what she's done to you? You're utterly perfect. Everybody will be mad about you won't they, Merry?"
Meriweather nodded. He had no words. He had known her lovely, but this—a wreath of oak-leaves binding her smoky locks, her eyes lighted by that new look, her slender body sheathed in the bright green of young trees washed by spring rains, with more oak leaves bordering the hem—with the curl of a leaf on each shoe for a buckle below her silver hose—this was loveliness with a difference. And that new look in her eyes? Where had he seen it?
All in a moment he had it! Carew's eyes were like that when he entered upon some new adventure! He had marked it a thousand times, luminous, eager, almost uncanny.
Winslow joined them. "Our guests are waiting, Sally," and gave her his arm.
He wore a court costume which linked him with Sally's panniers and patches. It was all of white
