It had vanished, or his vision was not now clear enough to discern its subtle texture.
"Take good care of Blanche," said Mr.Birtwell, in a light voice.

"And you, pet, see that Mr.Whitford enjoys himself." Blanche did not reply.

Her father turned away.

Eyes not veiled as Whitford's now were would have seen that the filmy cloud which had come over her face a little while before was less transparent, and sensibly dimmed its brightness.
Scarcely had Mr.Birtwell left them when Mr.Elliott, who had only a little while before heard of their engagement, said to Blanche in an undertone, and with one of his sweet paternal smiles: "I must take a glass of wine with you, dear, in, commemoration of the happy event." Mr.Elliott had not meant to include young Whitford in the invitation.
The latter had spoken to a lady acquaintance who stood near him, and was saying a few words to her, thus disengaging Blanche.

But observing that Mr.Elliott was talking to Blanche, he turned from the lady and joined her again.