Looking through the bushes she saw two of the servants walking leisurely along, one carrying a basket of newly gathered fruit, and the other a basket of freshly cut roses.
Was it fate that caused one of them to say:
"Let us not return to the house just yet. The morning is warm and fine, why not sit down here under the shade of this tree and tie the roses into bunches? I can do it as well here as in the house."
Whereupon they leisurely proceeded to seat themselves.
"It isn't the same house since master brought home his bride," said the other. "It's nothing but company, company, all the time. Now we are to have another new lot of guests."
"And guess who is invited this time," said her companion.
"Mr. Mallard seems to know everybody in the country, so it would be a pretty hard guess," laughed the girl.
"Well," returned the other, "as you are not so good at guessing, I may as well tell you—it is Miss Vivian Deane."
"Pray, who is she?" asked the girl who was tying the roses.
"Oh, I forgot you were not here long enough to know about her. Well, I will tell you. She is a young girl who lives a few miles away in a magnificent house called Deane Castle. She is as beautiful as a dream, and as heartless as she is beautiful. She has a doll-like pink-and-white face, big blue eyes, and a wealth of flaxen curls. Though she looks like an angel, a bigger devil in woman's form never lived.