Creative Books

Miss Roberta's heart had not fluttered like this since a county ball
some forty years ago when a certain whiskered captain of a dashing
cavalry regiment stationed at Upminster had whispered in her ear.
Priscilla had let down Halcyone's white muslin frock and as the tucks
were rather large, it was longer than she intended, so that the child
might easily have been taken for a girl of fifteen, and her perfect feet
were encased in a pair of old-fashioned bronze slippers with elastics
crossed up the legs of her white silk stockings. A fillet of blue silk
kept back the soft cloud of her mouse-colored hair.
Mr. Miller was announced first--very nervous, as usual, and saying the
wrong thing in his flurry. Then up the terrace steps could be seen
advancing Mr. Carlyon and his guest. They had walked over from the
cottage--and Halcyone, observing from the window, was conscious that
against her will she was admiring John Derringham's arrogant, commanding
walk.
"He could very well be as Theseus was after he grew proud," she said to
herself.
And soon they were announced.


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