“Rosalind, what do you think of this?” asked Juliette, coming up to her
friend with an open letter in her hand.
It was the second day after her arrival at the White Sulphur Springs,
and they were out on the lawn before the grand hotel. All was
brightness and gayety. Throngs of beautiful women and handsome men lent
variety to the sylvan scene, and the merry music played by the band
made one’s step light and one’s heart gay.
“What is it, Juliette?” asked Miss Wylde curiously.
“A letter from my uncle, in which he explains the cause of his wife not
joining us here.”
“Is she not coming, then?” asked Mrs. Wylde, in a tone of regret.
“No.”
“But why not?”
“She was taken suddenly ill that afternoon, but would not send us
word, lest we should wait for her and be disappointed in going. She is
better now, and has taken up an idea that sea air would be of more
benefit to her than the springs,” replied Juliette, reading from her
uncle’s letter.
“Oh, I am sorry she will not join us. I had fallen in love with her,”
exclaimed Mrs. Wylde, and her daughter echoed:
“I had, too, mamma.”
A frown crossed Juliette’s pearl-fair face, and she read on slowly:
“So I will take her away to the sea, and you can remain with Mrs.
Wylde if she will have the kindness to chaperon you.”
She looked at Mrs. Wylde, and that lady said cordially:
“Your uncle ought to know that I will take great pleasure in doing
that.”
“Thank you,” cried Juliette; then, crushing the letter in her hand, she
said spitefully: “I believe Pansy had all that planned before, and did
not mean from the first to accompany us here.”
Mrs. Wylde and Rosalind looked startled.
“Why should she deceive us?” cried Rosalind.
“Oh, she had some hidden design in it, of course. She is naturally
deceitful. I never liked her from the first!” Juliette cried
peevishly, goaded to jealous anger by their declaration that they were
fond of Pansy.
“Well, you ought to know, of course, having lived in the same house
with her,” exclaimed Rosalind, in astonishment, adding: “But I never
should have supposed that dear little thing could be deceitful and
designing.”
“Nor I, for she always seemed so frank and open,” said her mother.
“Indeed, I had taken a great fancy to her.”
Every word stung Juliette more deeply, for she hated Pansy with an
intense hatred. She would have hated her for marrying her uncle if for
nothing else, but added to this was always her suspicion of Pansy’s
identity, and this fanned the fire of her rage into fury.
She made an excuse for leaving the Wyldes, that she might give full
vent, in the privacy of her own room, to the spite that possessed her,
and then Rosalind observed:
“Mamma, I do not think Juliette quite does justice to Mrs. Falconer.
She hates her because she married Colonel Falconer and disappointed her
expectations of getting all her uncle’s money.”
“That is it,” replied Mrs. Wylde. “Mrs. Falconer is without doubt a
charming woman, and Juliette’s suspicions of her deceitfulness have
their sole origin in nothing but envy and jealousy.”
While Juliette, alone in her own room, was saying bitterly:
“Oh, yes, they have fallen in love with her, have they? That is because
she is the rich Mrs. Falconer. They have no admiration to spare for
Norman’s sweetheart, the poor little tobacco-factory girl, who was
quite as beautiful, innocent, and charming as my uncle’s proud wife.”