Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1.1) Page B

to
have come honestly by such expensive trimming as this must have been.
                 “It
looks as if it had belonged to a deeply scalloped flounce,” said Mrs. Vane.
“Who of us wears such? Miss Stuart, you are in black; have I not seen you with
a trimming like this?”
                 “You
forget—I wear no trimming but crepe. This never was a part of a flounce. It is
the corner of a shawl. You see how unequally rounded the two sides are; and no
flounce was ever scalloped so deeply as this,” returned Diana.
                 “How
acute you are, Di! It is so, I really believe. See how exactly this bit
compares with the corner of my breakfast shawl, made to imitate lace. Who wears
a black lace shawl? Neither Di nor myself,” said Mrs. Berkeley.
                 “Mrs.
Vane often wears one.”
                 Diana
uttered the name with significance, and Douglas stirred a little, as if she put into words
some vague idea of his own. Mrs. Vane shrugged her shoulders, sipped her
coffee, and answered tranquilly, “So does Lady Lennox; but I will bear all the
suspicions of phantom folly, and when I dress for dinner will put on every rag
of lace I possess, so that you may compare this bit, and prove me guilty if it
gives you pleasure. Though what object I could have in running about in the
dark, oiling door locks, stealing rings, and frightening gentlemen is not as
clear to me as it appears to be to you—probably because I am not as much
interested in the sufferer.”
                 Diana
looked embarrassed, Lady Lennox grave, and, as if weary of the subject, Douglas thrust the shred of lace into his waistcoat
pocket, and proposed a riding party. Miss Stuart preferred driving her aunt in
the pony carriage, but Mrs. Vane accepted the invitation, and made George
Lennox wretched by accepting the loan of one of Earl’s horses in preference to
his own, which she had ridden the day before. When she appeared, ready for the
expedition, glances of admiration shone in the eyes of all the gentlemen, even
the gloomy Douglas, as he watched her, wondering if the piquant figure before
him could be the same that he had seen in the garden, looking like a lovely,
dreaming child. Her black habit, with its velvet facings, set off her little
lithe figure to a charm; her hair shone like imprisoned sunshine through the
scarlet net that held it, and her face looked bewilderingly brilliant and arch
in the shadow of a cavalier hat, with its graceful plume.
                 As Douglas bent to offer his hand in mounting her, she
uttered an exclamation of pain, and caught at his arm to keep herself from falling. Involuntarily he sustained her, and
for an instant she leaned upon him, with her face hidden in his breast, as if
to conceal some convulsion of suffering.
                 “My
dear Mrs. Vane, what is it? Let me take you in—shall I call for help?” began Douglas , much alarmed.
                 But
she interrupted him and, looking up with a faint smile, answered quietly, as
she attempted to stand alone, “It is nothing but the cramp in my foot. It will
be over in a moment; Gabrielle fastened my boot too tightly—let me sit down,
and I will loosen it.”
                 “Allow
me; lean on my shoulder; it's but a moment.”
                 Down
knelt Douglas ; and, with one hand lightly touching his
shoulder to steady herself , the other still closely
folded, as if not yet out of pain, Mrs. Vane stood glancing from under her long
lashes at Diana, who was waiting in the hall for her aunt, and observing the
scene in the avenue with ill-concealed anxiety. The string was in a knot, and Douglas set about his little service very
leisurely, for the foot and ankle before him were the most perfect he had ever
seen. While so employed, Jitomar, Mrs. Vane's man, appeared, and, tossing him
the gloves she had taken off, she signed to him to bid her