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Elinor smiled and pulled Patricia down beside her on the stool. Elinor blushed and laughed. "I can't, usually," she said, gayly. "It is the Victory that did it. She must have handed down some of the thoughts of the old Greek that carved her out of the white marble under that blue, blue sky of ancient days." "Isabella! A lie! Impossible!".
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"What's the matter?" insisted Patricia, nudging her to compel her attention, but Judith's gaze was wandering all about in search of Elinor, and she answered absently. "There she is, up on the stand with Griffin," she murmured in dismay. "I can never let her know. I wish I could catch her eye; can't you signal her, Miss Pat? You're taller than I am." "I daresay it can be," said Isabella, quietly. "Come up to the house, major, and speak to Dido. I feel sure she can explain." "Why, what's that?" cried a voice, and all eyes were turned to the gaudy swaying globe. Before anyone could speak, Elinor gave another hard tug, tearing out the bottom of the lantern, and down came the shower of gay little gauze bags with their cargoes of bonbons, pell-mell on the heads of the crowd! The two young people looked steadfastly at the brilliantly-colored figure of the negress, standing in a statuesque attitude near the great iron gate. On either side of her waved the summer foliage of the trees; overhead the sun, like a burning eye, looked down from a cloudless sky, and beyond, the dusty white road showed distinctly through the slender bars of the gate. All was bright and cheerful and English, but in that sinister red figure, with its black face and hands, there was a suggestion of evil which seemed to dominate and poison the whole beautiful scene. Maurice felt Isabella shudder with nervous dread as she pressed closely to his side..
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