ROMA FINDS AN ALLY.
Dolly Dorr was right. Handsome Malcolm Dean had never quitted Liane's
side since the moment he had clasped her hand in congratulating her on
her triumph as queen of beauty.
He remained by her side, enraptured with her beauty and her bashful
grace, and he lost no time in preferring a request to walk home with
her that night, thinking to himself how sweet it would be to walk
with her beneath the brilliant moonlight, the little hand resting on
his arm, while the low, musical voice answered his remarks with the
timidity that showed how unconscious she was of her own enchanting
beauty.
He could scarcely credit what they had told him this afternoon when
examining the portraits: that Liane Lester was only a poor sewing girl,
with a cruel grandmother, who beat her upon the slightest pretext, and
never permitted her to have a lover.
"She looks like a young princess. It is a wonder that some brave young
man has not eloped with her before now," he declared.
"Every one is afraid of Granny Jenks," they replied; but Jesse
Devereaux only remained gravely silent. He had decided to win sweet
Liane for his own, in spite of a hundred vixenish grannies.
He had sent her the fragrant roses to wear, determining to disclose his
identity that night, and to win her sweet promise to be his bride.
Now his plans were all spoiled by the artist's sudden infatuation, and
he could have cursed Roma for the spiteful manoeuvring that had kept
him an unwilling captive, while Liane was drifting beyond his reach.
All his pleasure was over for to-night, yet he did not give up hope
for the future. His dark eyes had not failed to detect the joy in her
glance, and the blush on her cheek at their meeting, and his ears had
caught the little regretful ring in her voice, as she whispered that
she had already promised Mr. Dean.
Presently the people all began to go away, and with keen pain he saw
Liane leaving with her new admirer, her little hand resting like a
snowflake on his black coat sleeve.
"But it shall be my turn to-morrow," he vowed to himself, turning away
with a jealous pang, and pretending not to see Dolly Dorr, who had
lingered purposely in his way, hoping he would see her home.
Disappointed in her little scheme, she rather crossly accepted the
offer of a dapper dry-goods clerk, and went off on his arm, laughing
with forced gayety as she passed Devereaux, to let him see that she did
not care.
Devereaux did not even hear the laughter of the piqued little flirt.
He could think of nothing but his keen disappointment over Liane. He
returned to his hotel in the sulks.
After all his pleasant anticipations, his disappointment was keen and
bitter.
"How can I wait until to-morrow?" he muttered, throwing himself down
disconsolately into a chair.
Suddenly a messenger entered with a telegram, and, tearing it hastily
open, he read:
Come at once. Father has had a stroke of apoplexy.
LYDE.
Lyde was his only sister, married a year before, and a leader in
society. He could fancy how helpless she would be at this juncture--the
pretty, petted girl.
Filial grief and affection drove even the thought of Liane temporarily
from his mind.
Calling in a man to pack his effects, he left on the earliest train for
his home in Boston.
But as the train rushed on through the night and darkness, Liane
blended with his troubled thoughts, and he resolved that he would write
to her at the earliest opportunity. He would not leave the field clear
for his enamored rival.
He realized, too, that the clever and handsome artist would be a
dangerous rival; still, he felt sure that Liane had some preference for
himself. On this he based his hopes for Malcolm Dean's failure.
"She will not forget that night upon the beach, and the opportune
service I did her. Her grateful little heart will not turn from me," he
thought hopefully.
Malcolm Dean was the only one he could think of as likely to come
between him and Liane. He had not an apprehension as to Roma Clarke's
baleful jealousy. And yet he should have remembered the hate that had
flashed from her eyes and hissed in her voice when she taxed him with
voting for Liane.
Again, she had nearly fainted when he was excusing himself to speak to
her successful rival.
And even now, while the fast-flying train bore him swiftly from
Stonecliff, Roma paced her chamber floor like one distraught, wringing
her hands and alternately bewailing her fate and vowing vengeance.
Before Roma's angry eyes seemed to move constantly the vision of her
rival in her exquisite beauty. Liane, in her girlish white gown, with
the fragrant pink roses at her slender waist--Liane, the humble sewing
girl she had despised, but who had now become her hated rival.
Jesse Devereaux admired her; thought her the loveliest girl in the
world. Perhaps, even, he was in love with her. That was why he had
taken so gladly the dismissal she had so rashly given.
A fever of unavailing regret burned in Roma's veins, the fires of
jealous hate gleamed in her flashing eyes.
"I would gladly see her dead at my feet," she cried furiously.
Before she sought her pillow, she had resolved on a plan to forestall
Devereaux's courtship.
She would go to-morrow morning to see the wicked old grandmother
of Liane; she would have a good excuse, because the old woman had
desired the visit, and she would tell her that Devereaux was engaged
to herself, and warn her not to permit her granddaughter to accept
attentions that could mean nothing but evil. She would even bribe the
old woman, if necessary. She was ready to make any sacrifice to punish
Jesse for what she called to herself his perfidy, ignoring the fact
that she had set him free to woo whom he would.
Granny was tidying up her floor next morning, when a footstep on the
threshold made her start and look around at a vision of elegance and
beauty framed in sunshine that made the coppery waves of her hair shine
lurid red as the girl bowed courteously, saying:
"I am Miss Clarke. Mamma said you wished to see me."
Granny dropped her broom and sank into a chair, staring with dazed eyes
at the radiant beauty in her silken gown.
As no invitation to enter was forthcoming, Roma stepped in and seated
herself, with a supercilious glance at the shabby surroundings. She
thought to herself disdainfully:
"To think of being rivaled in both beauty and love by a low-born girl
raised in a hovel!"
Yet she saw that everything was scrupulously clean and neat, as though
Liane made the best of what she had.
The old woman, without speaking a word, stared at Roma with eager eyes,
as if feasting on her beauty, a tribute to her vanity that pleased Roma
well, so she smiled graciously and waited with unwonted patience until
granny heaved a long sigh, and exclaimed:
"It is a pleasure to behold you at last, Miss Roma, as a beauty and an
heiress! Ah, you must be very happy!"
The young girl sighed mournfully:
"Wealth and beauty cannot give happiness when one's lover is fickle,
flirting with poor girls at the expense of their reputations."
"What do you mean?" gasped the old woman, and somehow Roma felt that
she was making a favorable impression, and did not hesitate to add:
"I am speaking of your granddaughter, Liane Lester. The girl is rather
pretty, and I suppose that her vanity makes her ambitious to marry
rich. She flirts with every young man she sees, and lately she has been
making eyes at my betrothed husband, Jesse Devereaux, a handsome young
millionaire. He loves me as he does his life, but he is a born flirt,
and he is amusing himself with Liane in spite of my objections. So I
thought I would come and ask you to scold the girl for her boldness."
"Scold her! That I will, and whip her, too, if you say so! I will do
anything to please you, beautiful lady," whimpered granny, moving
closer to Roma, and furtively stroking her rich dress with a skinny,
clawlike hand, while she looked at the girl with eager eyes.
Roma frowned a little at this demonstration of tenderness, but she was
glad the old woman took it so calmly about Liane, and answered coolly:
"So that you keep them apart, I do not care how much you whip her, for
her boldness deserves a check, and I suppose that you cannot restrain
her, except by beating."
She was surprised and almost shocked as granny whispered hoarsely:
"I would beat her--yes; I would kill her before she should steal your
grand lover, darling!"