It is some time since we have seen Mrs. Lyle and her elder daughter.
We must seek them now in one of "the stately homes of England."
They are the guests of Lady Valentine at her elegant residence in the
most fashionable quarter of London.
Nearly four years have elapsed since we first met the Lyles and heard
the spirited discussion over little Queenie's first ball and Sydney's
old green silk dress.
Sydney and Georgina would not need to scrimp little Queenie's share of
finery to bedeck themselves now were she living.
Georgina's husband is wealthy and indulgent, and "Uncle Robert," the
beneficent friend of their earlier days, has charged himself with
Sydney's support ever since her father died until recently, when she has
married a wealthy man.
Mrs. Lyle lives with Georgina, and still enjoys the whirl of fashionable
life as much as ever--indeed more than ever, for now there is no vexing
question relative to the girls' finery disturbing her placid mind.
It is a chilly morning in mid-winter, and the three ladies are sitting
in a pleasant morning-room, Georgina, grown plump and indolent, idly
reclining in an easy-chair, with her dimpled white hands lazily folded
over her silken lap, Mrs. Lyle perusing a morning paper, and Sydney
gazing restlessly out of the window--watching, perhaps, for her
husband--the honeymoon is not a month old yet, and she is naturally
impatient at his absence.
Into this quiet scene enters Lord Valentine and tosses some cards into
his wife's lap.
"Tickets for La Reine Blanche to-night," he says.
All three ladies utter a cry of delight.
"At last," exclaims Mrs. Lyle, in a spasm of anticipation.
"Yes, at last," laughs my Lord Valentine. "The great American actress
will play at the theater to-night, and we shall have a chance to see if
she is really as great an _artiste_ as Madame Rumor reports."
"Here is a paragraph regarding her now," says Mrs. Lyle, and taking up
the paper, she reads aloud:
"The beautiful and gifted young American actress, Madame Reine De Lisle,
will make her _debut_ before a London audience to-night in the great
emotional play of 'Romeo and Juliet.' The fame of this wonderful
_artiste_ has preceded her to England, and all lovers of the drama are
on the _qui vive_ for the first appearance of La Reine Blanche, as her
admirers call her."
"La Reine Blanche," said Lord Valentine's little sister, looking up from
her volume of history as she sat in a corner by the fire. "La Reine
Blanche--that means 'the white queen.' They used to call Mary Queen of
Scots La Reine Blanche, because she was so fair and lovely, and because
she wore a white dress when she was in mourning. I have just been
reading about her in my history. I wonder if this great actress is
beautiful also?"
"She is said to be the most beautiful blonde in the world, Alice," said
Lord Valentine, smiling down at the little school-girl.
A slight cloud has shadowed the brightness of Lady Valentine's face
while little Lady Alice is speaking. She leans toward her mother, and
says in a slightly lowered voice, but one which is distinctly audible to
Sydney:
"Alice's French recalls my own, mamma. Have you ever thought what the
name of this great tragedy _queen_, if rendered into English, would be?"
"_Reine De Lisle_," repeated Mrs. Lyle, musingly.
Then she gives a great start.
"It would be--ah, it would be Queen Lyle!"
"Exactly," says Georgina. "Quite an odd coincidence. Is it not?"
She leans back in her seat with a thoughtful look on her pretty pink and
white face.
Old times and old interests crowd into her mind with the memory of her
younger sister. Time has thrown a veil over Queenie's faults and
follies, and Georgina recalls her now with a softening remembrance, and
half regrets the scorn she cast upon her when she returned to them so
strangely.
"But ah! that missing year," she asks herself, as she has done many
times before. "Where was it spent?"
Sydney had risen at the first mention of Queenie's name and swept out of
the room. Neither time nor change had softened her hatred and resentment
against poor little Queenie.
She had hated her beautiful sister while living, and she hated her, even
in her grave, so bitterly that she could not endure the mention of her
name even now when years had come and gone.