Thea West, for such was the pretty name the young girl had made out of
her pet name Sweetheart, bounced into the house and flung herself down
at the piano, leaving her discomfited lover alone on the porch of his
cottage home. In a minute a flood of music poured out through the open
windows, and the girl sung sweetly, saucily, cruelly:
“The Laird of Cockpen, he’s proud an’ his great.
His mind is ta’en up wi’ the things o’ the state;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favor wi’ wooin’ was fashions to seek.
* * * * *
“He took the gray mare and rode cannilie--
And rapped at the door o’ Clarverse-ha’ Lee,
’Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben;
She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.’
“Mistress Jean, she was making the elder-flower wine;
‘An’ what brings the laird at sic a like time?’
She put aff her apron and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and gaed awa’ down.
“And when she cam’ ben he bowed full low;
And what was his errand he soon let her know.
Amazed was the laird when the lady said ‘Na,’
And wi’ a light curtsey she turned awa’.
“Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gi’e;
He mounted his mare and rode cannilie;
And after he thought, as he gaed through the glen:
‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird of Cockpen!’”
The pert song was followed by a brilliant waltz, a march, a sonata,
then some sentimental songs. Evidently, Thea West was in the highest
spirits. No sympathy did the rejected suitor get from his heartless
lady-love. She had forgotten him long before he turned away from the
sound of her maddening melody and went back from his suburban home to
the chief dry-goods store in the village, where he was employed as
clerk, and where so many pretty faces smiled daily on the good-looking,
well-dressed young man that he could not help knowing that he was a
favorite beau--a knowledge that made Thea West’s _insouciant_ scorn
sting even more bitterly.
His proposal had had an undreamed-of listener--his sister Emmie, a
tall, rather pretty brunette of twenty years. The young lady had been
sitting at a vine-wreathed window, close to the porch, unnoticed
by anyone, and every word had plainly reached her ears. Her cheeks
crimsoned with mortification as she realized that Thea West had
rejected the hand of her elder brother, whom Emmie loved so dearly,
and of whom she was so proud, knowing well that there were a score of
girls in the village who would have gladly said yes to his offer. Beaus
were scarce and young girls plentiful in the town of Louisa.
“The pert thing! Refusing Tom, just as if he wasn’t ever so much too
good for her, and making fun of him into the bargain! I suppose it’s
because she’s dead in love with Frank, and he as good as engaged to
Maude Fitz, although it’s true he has hardly been near her since Thea
came home from Staunton. I suppose he’ll marry Thea and give Maude
the go-by now. I declare, I never will like Thea as well as I used
to, after this, and I’ll give her a piece of my mind, too, about her
boldness in asking Frank to take her to the party, and I think I’ll
give Charley McVey a hint about her carryings-on, as I fancy he was
beginning to get sweet on her, too,” Emmie muttered, irately, for
Charley McVey had been her favorite beau for some time, and it was here
that she suffered most deeply in her pride.
For thirteen years Thea West, as she was called by her own desire, had
been a well-beloved inmate of George Hinton’s home, petted by all,
and happy in their kindness. Mrs. de Vere had sent regularly a sum
sufficient for her maintenance, and when she was eleven years old had
directed that she should be sent to boarding-school at Staunton, a city
about twenty-five miles from where the Hintons lived.
Emmie had also attended the same school, but had graduated two years
before. Thea had spent all her vacations at the home of Uncle George,
as she called Mr. Hinton, and upon her graduation this summer had come
back there to stay.
She was seventeen years old now, and the cherubic beauty of her
childhood had fulfilled its rare promise. She was lovely in a bright,
bewitching fashion that carried all hearts by storm. Piquant features;
large sapphire-blue eyes with long, curling lashes of chestnut brown,
and slender, arched brows of the same lovely color; dimples; a skin
like the velvet petals of a tea-rose; an arch, red mouth; a wealth
of golden hair; a form divinely molded; feet and hands of the most
aristocratic beauty and delicacy--no wonder that the dazzled youth of
Louisa could look at no one else when she was by. Yet in no sense was
Thea a flirt, although her high spirits, her charming cordiality and
engaging frankness of manner, coupled with her striking beauty, had
begun to earn for her that unenviable reputation.
She was only a lovely, high-spirited, noble young girl, with strong
capabilities for enjoying life, and eager to do so--a fair type of
bright, happy maidenhood--
“Young, innocent, gay,
With the wild-rose of childhood yet warm on her cheek,
And a spirit scarce calmed from its infantine play
Into woman’s deep feeling.”
In the three weeks since Thea had been home from school, time had
passed very pleasantly. Parties and picnics had rapidly succeeded each
other in this charming Virginia town, and not one had Thea missed.
Withal, she had turned the heads of half the marriageable men in
town--a fact which afforded the careless child nothing but amusement.
She knew nothing of love, save from poetry and novels, and she had a
fearlessly open opinion that love was tiresome in real life. She did
not scruple to tell Tom Hinton that he was not half so nice as he had
been when she was only a little girl.
“And you brought me candy and nuts and raisins, and all the things that
Aunt Hester said were not good for little girls. You bring them still,
and I enjoy them, but not as much as if you didn’t talk nonsense to
me,” she said, candidly.
Emmie Hinton had always been fond of the girl, but she was in danger of
forgetting it now in her resentment over Tom’s rejection.
“As if it wasn’t really better than she had any right to expect, for
who knows who she is, anyhow?” ran on the tenor of her angry thoughts.
“She was found in a railway wreck, and she hasn’t even a name but the
one she made up herself out of a silly pet name. She can not have any
people that amount to much, or they would have answered some of the
advertisements papa says Mr. de Vere put into the papers. I wish he
would come and take her away. I--I--wish she had never come here!”
finally boo-hooed Emmie, spitefully, for she was growing miserably
uncertain over the tenure she had upon Charley McVey’s heart.
That night, when the girls were dressing to go to the dancing-party,
Emmie’s wrath broke out.
“Thea West, you ought to be ashamed of youself, asking a young man to
escort you to the dance. If no one asked you for your company, you
ought to stay at home.”
Thea was dodging behind Emmie’s shoulder, trying to see if she had tied
her blue sash properly over her airy white mull dress. She gave a gasp
of surprise.
“Oh, you needn’t pretend you didn’t!” Emmie continued, angrily, her
cheeks as red as the roses she was pinning on her corsage.
“Who says I did?” Thea asked, quickly.
“No matter; I happen to know that you asked Frank,” snapped Emmie. “I
should think you’d know Maude Fitz wouldn’t like it, and he as good as
engaged to her. Why, before you came from school they went everywhere
together. Now you keep him running after you all the time, the same as
if he were your beau.”
“Frank is the same as my brother. Maude knows that I didn’t think she’d
care,” Thea said, flushing, and keeping back two started tears that
wanted to fall.
Emmie had never scolded her before.
“I suppose Tom is the same as your brother, too, but he didn’t think so
this afternoon when he was asking you to marry him,” snapped Emmie.
She moved aside from the mirror, but Thea did not want it now. She had
forgotten about the sash.
“Did Tom tell you that?” she asked, in a low voice.
“No; I heard it. I was in the sitting-room window.”
“Well, what of it? Are you mad about that, Emmie?” in astonishment.
“No, I’m glad,” Emmie burst out, longing to punish the pretty, careless
thing. “You don’t think I’d want my brother Tom to marry a girl so poor
that she hadn’t any name nor any relations, but just seems to have
‘growed’ sort of like Topsy! No, indeed! I hope and pray my brothers
may marry their equals in life.”
Thea stood like a statue. Never before in her bright, careless life
had any reproach been flung at her for her misfortunes. She had held
herself as high as these Hintons with whom she had been raised. She had
never dreamed that she was not the equal of any one. Emmie’s barbed
thrust pierced deep.
She stood still, facing angry, jealous Emmie, the sweet, gay smile
fading like magic from the rosy lips, the rose-leaf bloom from the
dimpled cheeks, the sparkle from the deep-blue eyes. Not a word came
from her. She was catching her breath hard as if some one had struck
her a blow.
Suddenly, while Emmie stared at her, angry still, yet half ashamed of
her ignoble outburst, the girl turned swiftly and rushed from the room.
She flew down-stairs to the parlor, and Emmie followed her as far as
the hall.