That silent duel of
eyes went on--the woman's fixed, cruel, smiling; the girl's uncertain,
resentful. Neither of them heard a word that Mr. Stone was reading. They
treated it as, from the beginning, Life has treated Philosophy--and to
the end will treat it.
Mr. Stone paused again, seeming to weigh his last sentences.
"That, I think," he murmured to himself, "is true." And suddenly he
addressed his daughter. "Do you agree with me, my dear?"
He was evidently waiting with anxiety for her answer, and the little
silver hairs that straggled on his lean throat beneath his beard were
clearly visible.
"Yes, Father, I agree."
"Ah!" said Mr. Stone, "I am glad that you confirm me. I was anxious.
Follow!"
Bianca rose. Burning spots of colour had settled in her cheeks. She went
towards the door, and the little model pursued her figure with a long
look, cringing, mutinous, and wistful.
CHAPTER XX
THE HUSBAND AND THE WIFE
It was past six o'clock when Hilary at length reached home, preceded
a little by Miranda, who almost felt within her the desire to eat. The
lilac bushes, not yet in flower, were giving forth spicy fragrance. The
sun still netted their top boughs, as with golden silk, and a blackbird,
seated on a low branch of the acacia-tree, was summoning the evening.
Mr. Stone, accompanied by the little model, dressed in her new clothes,
was coming down the path.
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