“WHICH IS THE MORE LOVELY?”
A few words more of introduction are necessary in order to make the
reader understand more thoroughly what the main characters of our story
are like.
Arley Wentworth, like the Lady Elaine, was an orphan. Her father had
been a gallant captain in her majesty’s army, her mother the daughter
of a wealthy London physician.
Both had died in the far East, the captain from a bullet wound received
with his face to the enemy, his gentle, idolizing wife from grief over
her husband’s untimely and tragic death.
The little Arley, then not quite two years old, was thus left desolate,
save for the native nurse who had had the care of her ever since her
birth--and the officers of her father’s company, not knowing what else
to do, sent her home to England to her grandfather. The nurse, who
loved her little charge most fondly, and could not endure the thought
of separation, was only too glad to be commissioned to take care of her.
But the poor, little waif nearly lost her life also, for the vessel was
wrecked during the voyage, the nurse was drowned, and the child was
picked up, more dead than alive, by a kind-hearted sailor, who saw her
drifting helplessly about, and could not leave her to the mercy of the
cruel waves, even though his own chances for being rescued were small.
When he, with the few others who were saved, were transferred from the
sinking wreck to another homeward-bound steamer, a good woman took the
poor child and cared for her with all the tenderness of a mother until
she saw her safe in the care of her grandfather, Dr. Hugh McAllister,
of London.
He was nearly heart-broken over the sad tidings brought to him with his
grandchild, but as she grew and developed, she gradually came to take
the place of his lost daughter, and he bestowed the greatest care upon
her education and training.
She was a great comfort to him as long as he lived, and at his death he
left her all his property, and confided her to the guardianship of his
sister, a maiden lady a number of years younger than himself.
So she was quite an heiress in her own right, besides having
expectations of more, since Miss McAllister was also quite wealthy.
She was vivacious and beautiful, as well as very intelligent,
consequently she was much sought after and became the life of the
company wherever she went.
Her name, Arley, was simply a contraction of Arletta, which everybody
seemed to dislike to speak, and wondered that her parents should have
chosen such a strange cognomen for her.
Her features were regular, with a sort of rounded symmetry that made
one long to kiss the smooth, bright cheeks and the full, ripe lips. Her
eyes were large, very dark, almost black, and exceedingly expressive.
Her hair, of glossy nut-brown, was always arranged in some becoming
style, and her smile, so bright and witching, made others smile in
sympathy.
She was not so tall or symmetrical in figure as the Lady Elaine, but it
was a pretty form, nevertheless, and always clad in the most jaunty and
tasteful of costumes.
Annie Hamilton was a sweet, gentle girl, very quiet and somewhat
retiring, with no pretensions to beauty, but with a latent something
about her--a certain charm which made everybody love her.
She was two years younger than her brother, who was twenty-one, and
whom she loved with almost idolatrous affection. She appeared rather
mature for her years, but this was owing to her quiet demeanor, and to
the fact, perhaps, that she had been brought up almost alone, there
being no companions of her own age in the neighborhood.
Fred Vane, her betrothed, had, like Philip, been educated for the bar,
but having a handsome fortune in prospect, and being the only child of
his parents, he had, at their request, remained at home to assist in
the management of their large estate.
He, like Annie, was very quiet in his tastes, and they were a couple of
matter-of-fact lovers, who bade fair to enjoy a life full of peace and
comfort.
When dinner was over and the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies, Lady
Hamilton called her son to arrange for the next day’s amusement, and
Philip, seizing the opportunity, sought Lady Elaine and engaged her in
conversation.
He was an entertaining talker, and soon succeeded in fastening her
attention wholly upon himself, and when at length Wil returned to the
drawing-room he found that his friend had coaxed his “lady fair” out
through one of the long windows, and there the handsome couple were
pacing back and forth on the ivy-covered porch, which ran along the
end of the drawing-room and the library, and were apparently oblivious
to everything and everybody save themselves and the subject they were
discussing.
A quick, hot flush mounted to the young man’s brow, and a pained,
anxious look stole into his eyes, for he had surrendered himself
entirely and with a devotion rarely equaled to his father’s young and
beautiful ward, and he had begun to hope, from several little signs,
that she was not indifferent to him.
“My peerless lily, I do not like this sudden monopoly at all,” he
murmured, with unsteady lips. “I love you--how I love you! and unless I
win you my whole life will be ruined.”
Fred Vane and his sister were sitting in a deep window having a cozy
after-dinner chat, and had not even heeded his entrance. Sir Anthony
was reading his newspaper, and Arley was nowhere visible.
Wil thought he would look her up, and stole softly out of the room,
feeling very wretched, and with the first bitterness which he had ever
experienced for his old chum rising in his heart.
He found Arley in the library writing a letter, and sitting just where
she could see that distinguished-looking couple outside, pacing up and
down in the shadow of the ivy vines.
Her eyes were unusually bright and her color considerably heightened,
but she looked up with her own charming smile as Wil entered.
He begged pardon for intruding when he saw that she was writing, but
she said:
“Come in, do; I am only just scribbling a little note to auntie. I am
all through except writing the address; and then, if you are agreeable,
we’ll take a stroll down to the lake; you know that is my favorite
resort, for”--with a droll look--“I found myself decided _detrop_ in
the drawing-room. Perhaps, however, the others will like to come with
us, if they are not too deeply engaged,” she concluded, with a slight
shrug of her pretty shoulders and an inclination of her bright head
toward the porch.
Wil assented to her proposal, and, having waited for her to address and
seal her letter, they sauntered out.
As they passed through the hall Arley caught up a filmy white scarf and
twisted it carefully about her head, and the contrast with her bright
complexion and her rich dress made the loveliest picture imaginable.
“Come, Annie,” she sang out, gayly, peeping in at the drawing-room
door; “we are going down to the lake for a row.” Then, with a glance at
her companion, she added: “Will you ask Mr. Paxton and Lady Elaine to
come with us?”
Wil started and flushed hotly at the question, and she read his heart
in an instant.
“He loves her, as I suspected, and he is afraid of losing her,” she
thought.
She bent her head in reflection a moment, then lifting it with a
haughty, resolute gesture, she said:
“I’ll ask them,” and darted away to suit the action to the word.
“I don’t care what Mr. Paxton thinks of me,” she murmured as she went;
“he shall not spoil Wil’s life with his arts; he loves Lady Elaine, and
he shall win her if I can help him to do it, for they were just made
for each other.”
She stole softly up the steps of the porch, which at that end was
beautifully arched above with massive carved pillars on each side.
Philip Paxton and his companion were pacing the other way, and their
backs were toward her--they were not even conscious of the approach of
any one.
“The Lily of Mordaunt is wanted,” she called out, gayly. “Come, Mr.
Paxton--we are all going for a row on the lake, and if you have never
seen that charming sheet of water, you do not know what a treat is in
store for you.”
They turned at the sound of her voice, and Philip caught his breath
as he looked down the length of the porch and saw the lovely vision
standing in the arch; it was as if the young girl had been painted
there by some master hand and then framed within that massive carving.
“Heavens! I never saw one so beautiful,” he thought; and the fairer
beauty of the girl at his side seemed to pale before the bright vision
before him.
Lady Elaine came forward at Arley’s call, as if glad to be released
from her _tete-a-tete_.
“Please do not call me by that sentimental name, Arley,” she said, with
a smile, but with a rising flush.
“Why not, dear? Wil gave you the name, and it just suits you,” she
replied, linking her arms in hers and drawing her down the steps. “You
always make me think of a lily whenever I look at you.”
“But you make me feel foolish, you bright Rose of Wentworth,” Lady
Elaine returned, with an arch smile.
Arley’s laugh pealed out rich and clear.
“Now that is just delightful of you, my lady; nobody ever called me
anything so pretty before. Do I make you think of a rose?”
“Indeed you do--the brightest rose that ever grew; isn’t it true, Mr.
Paxton?” Lady Elaine inquired, appealing to him.
“Yes, indeed; it was a happy inspiration, and I think we must adopt it
in the future,” he replied, with a look in his handsome eyes that made
Arley’s heart beat quickly in spite of her previous irritation, and the
little piece of treachery which she had been plotting to thwart his
plans regarding the great heiress and her fortune.
When they came up with the others, Wil appeared thoughtful, and his
usually frank eyes were clouded with a look of pain.
“We have found a new name for Miss Wentworth,” Philip said, pretending
not to notice the change in his friend, although his conscience gave
him a twinge; “we are going to call her the ‘Wentworth Rose.’ What do
you think of it?”
“That it is very appropriate,” Wil tried to say with his usual hearty
manner.
“Then henceforth we will fight for the Wentworth Rose; her champions we
will be,” Philip said, gayly, and making a low obeisance before Arley.
“Thank you, Mr. Paxton; but I am afraid I shall be spoiled, for I have
not been in the habit of having such pretty things said to me,” she
returned, demurely, but with very mischievous eyes. “However,” she
added, “if you take such rash vows upon yourself you must abide by the
consequences; I shall require you to wear my colors.”
She plucked a crimson rose from a bush near which they were standing
and held it out to him.
“A serious requirement, indeed,” he answered, smiling; “but I shall
be most happy to accede to it, if your own fair fingers will place it
where it ought to go,” and he touched the left lapel of his coat.
Arley began to look for a pin; then, as if suddenly remembering the
object of their stroll she shot a quick glance over her shoulder at
Wil, saying:
“I suppose I must comply with Mr. Paxton’s request; go on, Wil, and get
the boat ready, and we will be there by the time you want to start.”
Wil Hamilton’s eyes lighted, for he understood the manœuvre of the
bright girl, and stepping to Lady Elaine’s side, they all passed on,
somewhat to Philip Paxton’s chagrin, for he had intended to monopolize
the heiress of Mordaunt during the remainder of the evening.
But there was no help for it, since he had bound his own hands, so to
speak, and he was obliged to stand there and allow Miss Wentworth to
amuse herself at his expense. She appeared to be in no hurry either,
and it took some time to settle that rose to suit her capricious fancy.
“I trust you have a generous supply of patience, Mr. Paxton,” she said,
with provoking coolness, as, for the fourth time, she removed the
refractory pin, to “try again.”
“There!” she added, “I think that will do this time; and now I’m
afraid that we have kept the others waiting. But I always like to have
everything just right,” she concluded, with a double meaning to her
words, but looking so sweetly innocent that he never suspected how she
had contrived to spoil his little game, although he inwardly rebelled
against being separated from Lady Elaine.
When they arrived at the lake, they found the rest of the party seated
in the boat, waiting for them.
Annie Hamilton was sitting in the prow, Wil and Lady Elaine in the next
seat, looking as contented as possible with each other’s society, while
Fred Vane was in the middle of the boat with an oar in each hand; thus
the two seats at the stern were reserved for the two loiterers.
“I am going to row, Paxton, and you will oblige me if you will take the
tiller,” Fred Vane said, and Philip, after assisting Arley to her seat,
could only comply with his request.
But he did not have a very unsocial time of it, in spite of his
disappointment, for the “Wentworth Rose” was in the best of spirits,
for some reason, and kept his attention so perfectly occupied with her
mirth and chatter, that he almost forgot that he had been balked in any
of his designs, while Wil was as grateful to the quick-witted girl as
ever a forlorn lover could be.