Her own way

by Eglanton Thorne

"She is indeed. I am not likely to be mistaken, since I went to school with her, though I assure you I am not proud of that fact. Of course we had nothing to say to her after she behaved in such a manner. Most people cut her, I believe, and her family soon found it desirable to leave London. The sisters took a school at Leeds. Mamma was very sorry for them, for they were quite different from Juliet—as steady as old Time. We thought that Juliet and her mother had settled somewhere not far from them, but I had no idea it was at St. Anne's."

"Well, I never!" ejaculated Mrs. Belsham. "I feel as if I could not believe it. Such a nice lady-like girl as she seems."

"Oh, she knows how to make the best of herself; she was always like that," said Frances vaguely. "And she had money left her by an uncle, so that she could do pretty much as she liked. Mamma thought it a great pity, for it only made her more vain and wilful."

So spake Frances Hayes, who, being undeniably plain, thick-set, and heavy-looking, was well secured by Nature from the temptations which had beguiled poor Juliet.

Mrs. Belsham was sorry to hear such an account of Juliet Tracy, to whom she had taken rather a liking. But the sorrow was not deep enough to lead her to keep silence on the subject. She was an ardent lover of gossip, and she easily persuaded herself that it was her duty to tell Mrs. Staines the startling facts she had learned. The effect of her news on the vicar's wife was so marked that Mrs. Belsham could not resist the temptation to seek further manifestations of the sensation it could create. She imparted the story of Juliet's past to every lady of her acquaintance in the room, taking care, however, to beg each one not to mention it. Nor were Frances Hayes and her sister more reticent, as they made the acquaintance of the young ladies present. Juliet speedily became aware of curious glances cast at her covertly, and perceived various signs of a desire to shun her company evinced by those who a little while before had worked with her as pleasant comrades.

Mrs. Staines, whenever she had occasion to address her, spoke in a constrained and official way; Mrs. Owen looked uneasy when she saw her little girls with Juliet, and kept them by herself as much as possible; the Misses Brown had not leisure even to cast a glance in Juliet's direction, much less to come and admire her stall, as they had promised to do as soon as she had finished arranging it.

As the hour at which the bazaar was to open approached, Juliet felt herself completely isolated by the other workers. No one praised the result of her efforts; no one displayed the least interest in her stall. She stood alone amidst her flowers, for Gwen and Gladys had been sent by their mother to stand near the door with their baskets of "button-holes."

The old spirit of defiance was stirring in Juliet's heart. Her face was almost as white as her frock, but her expression was one of proud and studied indifference. Only once, as she bent over her dainty bouquets, did her lips quiver and tears spring to her eyes. The emotion came with the thought of her mother.

"Oh," she said to herself, "how thankful I am that she could not come! She would have seen; she would have understood at once; and it would have hurt her so much."

Lady Ernestine Whitehouse arrived punctually to the hour. She was the young wife of a much-esteemed local magnate, Sir Richard Whitehouse of Ainsdale Priory, a fine old dwelling and estate some seven miles from St. Anne's. She was also the daughter of an earl, and, despite her low stature and quiet, simple manner, there was an unconscious dignity and impressiveness in her bearing which seemed to demonstrate her high birth. But her goodness of heart and strong, fearless character gave her a truer claim to distinction than rank could bestow.