“Heaven!” she cried, half-shudderingly, in the depths of her heart, “keep my soul pure and unspotted. Help me to do my duty now, even if I have failed in the days gone by.”
It was but too sweet for a beautiful girl of eighteen to be suddenly paid so much court, to be coaxed to drink so many a cup of nectar-tinctured flattery.
Great was the wonderment among the large circle of Lady Quaintree’s friends and acquaintances at the magic change in Miss Turquand’s status in society. No one knew the stipulations in the old man’s will. It was only known that she was now the happy possessor of a large fortune, in lieu of being a penniless toiler in the world’s hive.
That day Lois Turquand might have commanded a dozen offers, some good, some bad, some indifferently good. Many people speculated as to what would happen next.
“She was sure to marry at once,” everybody said. “Her beauty, her money, and her romantic little history would surely obtain for her the vivid interest of some more or less eligible individual.”
The majority decided she would marry Gerald Danvers.
Lady Quaintree had mentioned the projected visit to the Zoo, in the hearing of Frank Amberley, and he was haunting the gates when the little party arrived.
Poor fellow! He could not resist coming, fluttering about the flame that might end by consuming him.
Gerald objected to his company, now that he had resolved on appropriating the beautiful Lois himself. Hitherto he had never really noticed how often or how long Frank lingered by Miss Turquand. To-day he swelled and fumed like some ruffled turkey-cock, as Frank persisted in walking by the young girl’s left hand, as he displayed the grace and elegance of his irreproachably dressed person on her right.
Lady Quaintree had meant to keep Lois near her own side, but was obliged to loiter behind the three young people, while a dowager friend poured some matronly confidence into her unwilling ear.