Lilia Stuart had not failed to repeat Irene's confession of her
namelessness to her mother. Mrs. Stuart, with the malice of a little
mind, industriously disseminated the news among her guests. Curiosity
and excitement were rife, regarding the mysterious waif from the sea.
So when Irene came upon deck, looking so wondrously lovely in the blue
velvet dress and her rippling, waving, golden curls, they all came
around her, full of wonder and surprise. They were amazed and
disconcerted when Mrs. Leslie, with the cool self-possession that never
deserted her under any circumstances, proceeded to introduce her
_protege_ by the name of Miss Berlin.
"Why, we thought she had no name--that she was a child of shame. Mrs.
Stuart certainly said so," the ladies exclaimed to each other in
whispers. "Depend upon it there is something wrong. We will be very shy
of having anything to do with her."
If Irene had been homely and stupid, they might have pitied her, but her
girlish beauty and grace at once enlisted the spite and envy of their
little minds. Mrs. Leslie was the only lady on board who did not wish
that she had perished in the cold waves. They regarded her as an
interloper and unwelcome burden on them.
The gentlemen took a different view of the matter from their feminine
friends. They were full of wonder and admiration over the beautiful
stranger.
There were three gentlemen beside Mr. Stuart, on board the yacht, as
there were three ladies. With two of these men our story has no
interest. The third one, who was a distant relative of Mr. Stuart, and
who at once fell desperately in love with our heroine, we will slightly
describe.
He was tall and slight, with very dark eyes and hair, and a face that
though weak and irresolute in expression, was rather handsome, having an
effeminate mouth and chin that lent sweetness to his ever-ready smile.
His dark eyes had a trick of falling beneath your glance, as if some
inner consciousness made him shrink from meeting you with an open,
steady gaze. In dress and manner he was rather a dandy, and was counted
popular among the fair sex for his obliging disposition, and also a very
fair tenor voice, with which he accompanied himself on the guitar. He
answered to the name of Julius Revington.
On the heart of this handsome ladies'-man, the fair, blonde loveliness
of Irene at once committed terrible havoc.
He gazed as if fascinated, on that arch, bright face to which the
delicate color mounted in a roseate glow at his ardent gaze.
Mrs. Leslie smiled as she saw how deeply he was smitten with her
_protege's_ charms, and immediately introduced him.
He acknowledged the introduction with delight, and invited Miss Berlin
to promenade the deck with his arm for support.
As Irene gently declined, pleading weariness for excuse, he brought her
a comfortable chair and stood beside her ostensibly to shade her face
from the too ardent kisses of the wind and sun, but really that he might
feast his eyes on her fresh and pearl-fair beauty. Revington holding his
umbrella over Irene provoked some mirth and more envy in the breasts of
Brown and Jones. The ladies were unanimously disgusted. It was too bad
that she should wile Revington from them. Miss Smith, a tall brunette
who rather regarded him as her own prey, looked daggers. Mrs. Leslie was
secretly amused and delighted. She knew that Mrs. Stuart had been
forming a coalition against Irene, and it pleased her to see how hard
they took Revington's desertion to the banner of the newcomer.
But rave as they would, Irene's conquest was potent to everyone but
herself. She who had never had a lover in the course of her brief,
secluded life, was innocent of coquetry and unversed in the arts of
love. She accepted Revington's attentions kindly, and congratulated
herself that she had won another friend.
But though she was patient and gentle the beau could not congratulate
himself on any rapid progress in her favor. She was strangely sad and
grave. The red lips had no smiles for him though they answered him
gently when he spoke. The blue eyes did not look at him, though he tried
all his arts to win them to meet his gaze. They wandered strainingly
across the sea, as if seeking something lost to sight. The lids, with
their heavy golden lashes, had a pathetic droop as if unshed tears
weighed them down. The lips quivered now and then as if with mute sobs.
A story was written on her face--a story of sorrow and pain that clouded
somewhat its spring time loveliness as clouds overshade an April sky.
Revington, who was poetical, thought of some applicable lines, and
bending over her softly repeated them:
"It is raining, little flower;
Be glad of rain----
Too much sun would wither thee----
'Twill shine again.
The clouds are very black, 'tis true,
But just behind them shines the blue.
"Art thou weary, tender heart?
Be glad of pain----
In sorrow sweetest things will grow,
As flowers in rain.
God watches and thou wilt have sun
When clouds their perfect work have done."
The sweet words touched her. She had not known before that the sorrow at
her heart was reflected on her face. She looked at him then a little
wistfully.
"Do I indeed look so sad?" she asked.
"Far too sad for one so young," he answered. "I wish I could teach you
to smile."
She did smile then, but the smile was sadder than tears.
"Ah, you should have known me even a week ago," she said, impulsively.
"I had never known a real sorrow then. But now, unless I could forget, I
do not think I could ever again be glad."
She thought of the old gray head that she had so loved lying low in the
dark grave; of Elaine, her mother, who had left her to perish in the
dark waves after she had followed her almost to the brink, and a
fountain of sorrow, of bitterness, and of shame welled up within her
heart.
Revington looking keenly at her, wondered what the sorrow had been that
had shadowed her brow and heart.
"I will find it out if I can," he said to himself, "and I will teach her
to forget if I can."
He little dreamed how vain a task he had set himself. As the summer days
glided softly past, and the white-sailed yacht flew over the blue ocean
waves blithely as a bird, Irene began to understand the drift of his
attentions.
"Revington is making love to you, my dear," Mrs. Leslie had said,
laughing, and thus her young eyes were opened.
It amused her at first, and then she became disgusted. It angered her to
see the artful little traps he had set to surprise her secret from
her--the secret of her hidden past. From a desire for flirtation at
first he had glided into ardent love, and his longing to know the story
of her past grew greater daily in accordance with the strength of his
passion.
But Irene, from mere friendliness at first had turned to ice. She
repelled his attentions now, instead of languidly enduring them. In her
heart she contrasted the weakly, handsome face and shrinking eyes with
one that was engraved on her memory as possessing of all manly beauty
the most.
Mrs. Stuart looked on at the little by-play with coldly disapproving
eyes. She had begun with a jealous hatred of Irene, because her husband
had saved her life. Her aversion never grew less. Indeed, the beauty,
and grace, and romantic mystery that enfolded the girl, only added fuel
to the flame of her wrath and jealousy. She knew, although she was chary
of expressing it by word or sign, that Mr. Stuart took a great and
almost painful interest in the object of her antipathy.
It vexed her when she saw Julius Revington losing his heart to the girl,
but she never expostulated with him but once, although they were
intimate friends. Then he spoke a few words that effectually silenced
her, and she learned for the first time how his dark eyes could flash
beneath their drooping lids. She let him alone after that, and contented
herself with spiteful looks and sneering words behind his back.
In the balmy breezes and salty breath of the summer ocean, Lilia
Stuart's insidious disease took a new and flattering turn. She had fewer
ill-turns. Her thin cheeks rounded out with something like healthy
plumpness. Her large eyes did not look so large in her childish face.
She would have returned to her first enthusiastic admiration and
friendship for Irene, but her mother maliciously fostered ill-will and
contempt in her mind, and Irene was the recipient of many bitter
impertinences from the misguided child, which she received with cold and
disdainful scorn. Mrs. Leslie was the only friend she had who dared
speak openly and kindly for her. All the rest of the party, except
Julius Revington, were weakly dominated by Mrs. Stuart.
They reached Italian shores at last, and Arno was secured for the
Stuarts and their guests. There was a short and sharp debate between Mr.
Stuart and his wife, who objected to receive Irene as her guest. But the
lady knew how far she could transgress against her husband's will, and
she found she had reached the limit, and was forced to yield
ungraciously to his desires.
A cold and formal invitation was therefore accorded to Miss Berlin as
Mrs. Leslie's friend. Irene, burning with resentment and wounded pride,
would fain have declined and gone out into the cold, strange world to
seek her bread among strangers, but Mrs. Leslie's gentle solicitation
prevailed, and she accepted the grudging invitation as reluctantly as it
had been given. We will leave her there, in "the land of the orange, the
myrtle and vine," and return to Guy Kenmore.