No one who saw Jewel Fielding at Mrs. Devere's splendid reception that
night would have guessed the dark secret she had in her breast.
The purple plush and brocade, with the diamond ornaments and
creamy-hued corsage flowers, made her beauty seem queenly. Her dark
eyes radiated light enough to atone for the slight pallor of her
cheeks, whereon the rose was wont to bloom, and her lips were wreathed
in deceptive smiles that hid the horror lurking in her heart.
Laurie Meredith thought that he had never seen her more beautiful than
to-night, and he did not wonder that she had so many admirers. The
only thing that surprised him was that she could prefer himself above
all those others who worshiped her, while he had been one of the most
indifferent suitors that ever bowed at woman's shrine.
But her beauty and her devotion had touched his heart at last. He must
have been a marble man if it had not, for her devotion was so plain,
and yet so pathetic, seeming to ask for nothing in return save the
privilege of loving.
"Only to love him--nothing more,
Never a thought of his loving me!
Proud of him, glad of him, though he bore
My heart to shipwreck on this smooth sea.
Love's faith sees only grief, not wrong,
And life is daring when 'tis young."
If anything could have excused her folly and sin it would have been the
madness of her passion for him. She worshiped him and made no secret
of it. She could not keep her dark eyes from turning to his face, even
in the greatest crowds; she could not keep from speaking to him if he
came near her. By degrees the little world of society realized this.
People would smile when they saw them together. They would take care
not to intrude on their _tête-à-têtes_, not knowing that the love was
all on one side.
The Merediths could not help but see how things were going. Indeed,
they had seen long ago that she was in love with Laurie, and had been
ever since that summer when she had nursed him through the brain fever.
They talked to him delicately about it, wondering how he could remain
so indifferent to one so beautiful and loving.
With so many influences brought to bear upon him, he began to wonder
at himself. Why could he not care for this beautiful girl who was
so unhappy about him? for he remembered that she had loved him long
ago--when, in her girlish anger and jealousy, she had said:
"You have made love to my sister, and you have made love to me; you
have won both our hearts. Now choose between us!"
She was older and more cultured now--perhaps ashamed of her early
madness--yet the love was there still. Had he indeed encouraged it only
to nip the fair flower in the bud?
He remembered that he certainly had admired her very much--had even
cherished some romantic thoughts about making her his bride, until
sweet Flower put it all out of his head. The thought came to him for
the first time, that perhaps there had been some justice in her charge.
She had been so young, so unversed in the ways of the world, that a few
gallant words and admiring glances had wiled her heart from her forever.
Flower was dead and gone--why could he not tear his heart from his
perished love and give it to her unhappy sister? It seemed to him that
Flower--dear, gentle girl--herself would have wished it.
"Pity is akin to love," it is said. He began to feel very sorry for
Jewel, who, with all her gifts of youth, beauty, and wealth, was so
unutterably lonely, and so unhappy through her hopeless love. The
moment came when this sympathy, combined with admiration for her
beauty, led him into the belief that he loved her at last.
He proposed for her hand, and was accepted with a rapture that almost
startled him with its intensity. To-night, as he lingered by her side,
he felt proud of his fiancée, so beautiful and so loving. He smiled
into her eyes, and thought within himself that the day would come when
he would be almost as fond of her as he had been of Flower.
They were sitting _tête-à-tête_ on a velvet couch in the long
drawing-room, when their hostess approached, and asked, eagerly:
"Have either of you seen Lord Ivon's heiress, the great English beauty?
She is here to-night, and people are raving over her loveliness. But
you need not be afraid of a rival, Miss Fielding, as her type is
the opposite of your own. I do not praise one of my own sex often,"
laughingly; "but I will own that she is, as the poet laureate of her
own land aptly says, 'Perfectly beautiful, faultily faultless.'"
"Indeed? I am very anxious to see her!" exclaimed Jewel, with a half
sneer; but Laurie Meredith only laughed. He thought he had seen so many
English beauties while abroad; and, after all, none could compare,
in his own mind, with the lovely women of his native land. "Where is
she, Mrs. Devere?" continued Jewel, angrily, eager to look upon one of
whom she was furiously jealous, only because report said that she was
wondrously lovely.
"If you will come with me I will present you. I am curious to see the
meeting between the loveliest girl in America and the greatest beauty
in England!" exclaimed Mrs. Devere, who doted on beauty because she was
irredeemably homely herself.
Jewel was mollified by the compliment, and smiled brightly on her
hostess and her lover as she rose from her seat.
"Will you come, too, Laurie?" she asked; but he shook his handsome head.
"Excuse me for the present," he replied; and Jewel went away with Mrs.
Devere, secretly glad that her lover showed so little interest in the
beauty over whom every one was raving.
"And I have been so afraid of her--so foolishly jealous!" she thought,
gladly, all her fears set at rest.