So she went on with alacrity superintending the arrangements at Verelands for the ball. In old times many splendid entertainments had been held within its walls, and she made up her mind that this should be second to none. Thea must have a new dress, too, for the occasion, as it would be a sort of coming-out affair for her. Mrs. de Vere ordered for her a simple but effective costume--a white tulle bordered with narrow white satin ribbons, worn over a white silk slip, and plenty of lilies of the valley as garnitures. “She will be the sweetest thing in the house,” she thought, proudly. “I never saw any one so perfectly lovely as this nameless girl. I suppose it is sure to be a match between her and Cameron Bentley.” CHAPTER XLII. But after the ball-tickets went out, and Thea had come home, and the entertainment was but three days off, a heavy shadow fell upon Verelands, and it dated from a call made by Mrs. Bentley upon Mrs. de Vere. The portly, well-dressed lady had sent in her card to Mrs. de Vere without asking for Thea at all. They were together about an hour, and when the visitor went away, Mrs. de Vere went straight to the library, where her son was at work, with a gravity on her face that startled him. She never intruded upon his study hours unless there was something very serious the matter. He knew now that something must be gravely wrong. He threw down his pen, and hurried to place a chair. “Mother!” “Norman, I have had a great shock,” she said, sinking into a seat. “What was it?” “That old scandal has cropped up again--the slander I thought buried forever.” “I do not understand you, mother;” but his handsome face grew pale. “Mrs. Bentley has just been here, Norman. You know her son is madly in love with Thea West. He wishes to propose for her hand in marriage.” “And asks for our consent first, good boy,” Norman said, with a ghastly smile. “Why, it is not exactly that. He can not get his father’s consent until--until--” she faltered, and paused. “What?” he asked, sharply. “Until certain scandals have been cleared up--old scandals we thought dead, Norman. So Mrs. Bentley came herself to me. She is anxious Cameron should have Thea if everything is all right.” “Well, what is wrong about it?” he asked, with bitter impatience. “You remember poor Camille’s jealous charge, Norman--her ridiculous suspicion that Thea West was your own child? The malicious story has been revived with cruel additions. Anonymous letters have been circulated in Jacksonville, asserting the same story. Thea is declared to be your own illegitimate daughter, her mother a circus performer--a bareback rider--in a low hippodrome.” Norman de Vere grew ghastly; a stifled imprecation escaped his lips.