If young Mrs. Gardiner heard the ominous whispers on all sides of her,
regarding her open flirtation with handsome Victor Lamont, she did not
heed them. She meant to show the haughty husband whom she had learned to
hate with such a deadly hatred, that other men would show her attention.
The world owed her pleasure, a good time, and love by right of her youth
and beauty, and she meant to have them at whatever cost.
Victor Lamont struck her fancy. He was gay, debonair, and was certainly
in love with her; and, in open defiance of the consequences, she rushed
madly on, in her quest of pleasure, toward the precipice covered with
flowers that was yawning to receive her.
The beginning of the end came in a very strange way. One evening there
was a grand hop at the Ocean House. It was one of the most brilliant
affairs of the season. The magnificent ball-room was crowded to
overflowing with beauty and fashion. Every one who was any one in all
gay Newport was present. Jay Gardiner had been suddenly called away to
attend to some very important business in Boston, and consequently would
not be able to attend. But that made no difference about Sally's going;
indeed, it was a relief to her to know that he would not be there.
It occasioned no surprise, even though comments of disapproval waged
louder than ever, when the beautiful young Mrs. Gardiner, the married
belle of the ball, entered, leaning upon Victor Lamont's arm.
Those who saw her whispered one to another that the reigning beauty of
Newport quite surpassed herself to-night--that even the buds had better
look to their laurels. The maids and the matrons, even the gentlemen,
looked askance when they saw Victor Lamont and young Mrs. Gardiner dance
every dance together, and the murmur of stern disapproval grew louder.
At last, the couple was missed from the ball-room altogether. Some one
reported having seen them strolling up and down the beach in the
moonlight. There was no mistaking the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome
Englishman, and the trim, dainty little figure in fleecy white, with the
ermine wrap thrown over the pretty plump shoulders and round neck, on
which rare diamonds, that would have paid a king's ransom, gleamed
fitfully whenever the sportive breeze tossed back the ermine wrap.
Victor Lamont's fickle fancy for his companion had been a short-lived
one. Like all male flirts, he soon tired of his conquests, and longed
for new fields and new faces. He was considering this matter, when he
received a letter that set him thinking. It was from his boon companion,
Egremont, who was doing Long Branch.
There were four pages, written in cipher, which only Lamont could
understand. The last one read as follows:
"Report has it that you are head and ears in love with
a married beauty, and are carrying on a very open
flirtation. Egad! my boy, that will never do. You have
no time to waste in sentiment over other men's wives.
You went to Newport with the avowed intention of
capturing an heiress--some widow's daughter.
"You know how we stand as regards money. Money we must
get somehow, some way--_any way_. We must realize five
thousand dollars to save Hal, between now and this day
week. It remains for you to think of some way to obtain
it. If Hal peached on us, we would go up along with
him, so, you see, the money _must_ be raised somehow.
"My fall on the day I landed here, laying me up with a
sprained ankle, was an unfortunate affair, for it
prevented me from making the harvest we counted on. So
everything falls on your shoulders.
"You must have learned by this time who is who, and
where they keep their jewels and pocket-books. If I am
able to get about, I will run over to see you on
Saturday next. Two or three of our friends will
accompany me.
"Yours in haste,
"EGREMONT."
The day appointed saw three men alight from the early morning train.
They had occupied different cars, and swung off onto the platform from
different places. But the old policeman, who had done duty at the
station of the famous watering-place for nearly two decades, noted them
at once with his keen, experienced eye.
"A trio of crooks," he muttered, looking after them. "I can tell it from
their shifting glances and hitching gait, as though they never could
break from the habit of the lock-step; I will keep my eye on them."
Although the three men went to different hotels, they had been scarcely
an hour in Newport before they all assembled in the room of the man who
had written to Lamont, signing himself Egremont.
"It is deuced strange Victor doesn't come," he said, impatiently. "He
must have received both my letter and telegram."
At that moment there was a step outside, the door opened, and Victor
Lamont, the subject of their conversation, strode into the apartment.
"It was a mighty risky step, pals, for you to come to Newport, and,
above all, to expect me to keep this appointment with you to-day!" he
exclaimed, excitedly. "Didn't you know that?"
And with that he pulled the door to after him with a bang.
It was nearly two hours ere Victor Lamont, with his hat pulled down over
his eyes, quitted the hostelry and his companions, and then he went by a
side entrance, first glancing quickly up and down the street to note if
there was any one about who would be apt to recognize him.
The coast being apparently clear, he stepped out into the street, walked
rapidly away, and turned the nearest corner.
"If it could be done!" he muttered, under his breath. "The chance is a
desperate one, but, as Egremont says, we must raise money _somehow_.
Well, it's a pretty daring scheme; but I am in for it, if the pretty
little beauty can be induced to stroll on the beach to-night."
Night had come, and to Victor Lamont's great delight, he received a
pretty, cream-tinted, sweet-scented, monogrammed note from Sally
Gardiner, saying that she would be pleased to accept his escort that
evening, and would meet him in the reception-room an hour later.
Lamont's eyes sparkled with joy as he saw her, for she was resplendent
in a dream of white lace, and wore all her magnificent diamonds.
He was obliged to promenade and dance with her for an hour or so,
although he knew his companions would be waiting with the utmost
impatience on the shore.
When he proposed the stroll, he looked at her keenly, his lips apart,
intense eagerness in his voice.
To his great relief, she acquiesced at once.
"Though," she added, laughingly, "I do not suppose it would be as safe
to wear all my diamonds on the beach as it would be if we just
promenaded the piazza."
"It would be a thousand times more romantic," he whispered, his glance
thrilling her through and through, his hand tightening over the little
one resting on his arm.
And so, as the moth follows the flickering, dancing flame, foolish Sally
Gardiner, without a thought of danger, took the arm of the handsome
stranger whom she had known but a few short weeks, and sauntered out
upon the beach with him.
There were hundreds of promenaders, and no one noticed them
particularly.
On and on they walked, Lamont whispering soft, sweet nothings into her
foolish ears, until they had left most of the throng far behind them.
"Hack, sir!--hack to ride up and down the beach!" exclaimed a man,
stopping a pair of mettlesome horses almost directly in front of them.
Victor Lamont appeared to hesitate an instant; but in that instant he
and the driver had exchanged meaning glances.
"Shall we not ride up and down, instead of walking?" suggested Lamont,
eagerly. "I--I have something to tell you, and I may never have such an
opportunity again. We can ride down as far as the light-house on the
point, and back. Do not refuse me so slight a favor, I beg of you."
If she had stopped to consider, even for one instant, she would have
declined the invitation; but, almost before she had decided whether she
should say yes or no, Victor Lamont had lifted her in his strong arms,
placed her in the cab, and sprung in after her.
Pretty, jolly Sally Gardiner looked a trifle embarrassed.
"Oh, how imprudent, Mr. Lamont!" she cried, clinging to his arm, as the
full consciousness of the situation seemed to occur to her. "We had
better get out, and walk back to the Ocean House."
But it was too late for objections. The driver had already whipped up
his horses, and instead of creeping wearily along, after the fashion of
tired hack horses, they flew down the beach like the wind.
"Oh, Mrs. Gardiner--Sally!" cried Victor Lamont, in a voice apparently
husky with emotion, "the memory of this ride will be with me while life
lasts!"
Victor Lamont's voice died away in a hoarse whisper; the hand which
caught and held her own closed tighter over it, and the hoarse murmur of
the sea seemed further and further away.
Sally Gardiner seemed only conscious of one thing--that Victor Lamont
loved her.