CHAPTER XXV.
TWO KINDS OF BLOCKADE.
About 9:30 of the morning following the French ball
Phillip Van Zandt drops into his favorite seat in the
dining-room of the St. James hotel and picks up the
morning paper.
Scarcely had he unfolded it when his attention was attracted by two persons seated at the table beyond him. They are Cyrus Felton and Louise Hathaway, and the latter never looked fairer than on this bright March morning.
"Ah, my divinity of the ball," he murmurs. "By Eros! She is superb. Hair, a mass of gold and the sunlight gives it just the right effect. Purity and innocence are in those blue eyes and in every line of the face. Knowing no evil and fearing none, and yet with the self-poise of a queen. It almost restores one's confidence in humanity to look upon such a face.
"I would be glad indeed to know her, but the opportunity for an introduction is not likely to arise. I could scarcely presume on last night's meeting, and besides, she would hold me to my word. What impulse possessed her to remove her mask at my request? I'll wager she regretted it an instant later. Well, she did not see my face, so I may devour her visually in perfect safety."
"And her companion?" Van Zandt goes on meditatively. "Not her husband, assuredly. Too old for that. More likely her father, or perhaps her guardian. They are going to Cuba, so she told me. Well, I am going to Cuba, too. I may meet her there. Friendships are easily cultivated in a foreign land. My dear Van Zandt, is it possible that you are becoming interested in a woman? Careful; you forget who you are," he concludes bitterly, and stares moodily out upon the crowded street.
Mr. Felton and Miss Hathaway are breakfasting leisurely, unconscious of the interest they have aroused in
