Her marriage
had changed her but little, though she had grown a trifle stately, he
thought, and her coquetry had dropped from her like a veil. As she stood
there in her delicate lace cap and soft gray silk, the likeness to her
mother was very marked, and looking into the future, Dan seemed to see her
beauty ripen and expand with her growing womanhood. How many of her race
had there been, he wondered, shaped after the same pure and formal plan.
"And it is all just the same," he said, his eyes delighting in her beauty.
"There is no change--don't tell me there is any change, for I'll not
believe it. You bring it all back to me,--the lawn and the lilacs and the
white pillars, and Miss Lydia's garden, with the rose leaves in the paths.
Why are there always rose leaves in Miss Lydia's paths, Virginia?"
Virginia shook her head, puzzled by his whimsical tone.
"Because there are so many roses," she answered seriously.
"No, you're wrong, there's another reason, but I shan't tell you."
"My boxes are filled with rose leaves now," said Virginia. "Betty gathered
them for me."
The smile leaped to his eyes. "Oh, but it makes me homesick," he returned
lightly. "If I tell you a secret, don't betray me, Virginia--I am downright
homesick for Betty."
Virginia patted his hand.
"So am I," she confessed, "and so is Mammy Riah--she's with me now, you
know--and she says that I might have been married without Jack, but never
without Betty.
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