Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/313

Rh ready now. I've seen enough." For the instant before she had seen straight into Laurel's heart for a fleeting ten seconds!

Laurel didn't know it. Laurel had no idea that her mother's eyes were in the depth of the mirror she had gazed into, at her own reflection.

It had happened like this. Stella had seen it all. She had observed the first faint flush of color creep down the back of Laurel's neck as a young man had rushed up to her, and eagerly taken her hand in his, in greeting. Apparently the young man had asked Laurel to dance with him. As yet she hadn't left her post in the bay-window. She hesitated, glanced around the room—the guests were beginning to thin out—then accepted the invitation.

Still flushed, her neck was still pink beneath her pearls, she looked about her for a place to lay her flowers, spied the window-sill, took three steps toward Stella, and laid her flowers down, almost as if in Stella's lap; paused, raised her eyes. The window was just in front of her. The clear plate-glass with the light behind it was a perfect mirror. Laurel gave herself a long look. Six feet away Stella caught that look, hugged it to her close. She had never seen anything so dazzling, so luminous, in all her life before! It wasn't meant for her. It wasn't meant for any one on earth. It was like catching a bit of shooting star—of shooting heaven.

The young man to whom Laurel gave her hand a moment later—the young god who had made Laurel look at herself like that—was none other than Richard Grosvenor. Stella would have known him anywhere.