"See," she cried, turning to Lionel, "white heath, white roses, white lilies, intermixed with these pale gray flowers! There is no contrast in such an arrangement. Watch the difference which a glowing pomegranate blossom or a scarlet verbena will make."
"You do not like such quiet harmony?" said Lionel, smiling, thinking how characteristic the little incident was.
"No," she replied; "give me striking contrasts. For many years the web of my life was gray-colored, and I longed for a dash of scarlet in its threads."
"You have it now," said Mr. Dacre, quietly.
"Yes," she said, as she turned her beautiful, bright fact to him; "I have it now, never to lose it again."
Lord Airlie, looking on and listening, drinking in every word that fell from her lips, wondered whether love was the scarlet thread interwoven with her life. He sighed deeply as he said to himself that it would not be; this brilliant girl could never care for him. Beatrice heard the sigh and turned to him.
"Does your taste resemble mine, Lord Airlie?"
"I," interrupted Lord Airlie--"I like whatever you like, Miss Earle."