And Howard Templeton—was her oath of vengeance of no avail, that fortune should make him her spoiled darling still?
The waltz music ceased with a great, passionate crash of melody, and the gentlemen led their partners to their seats.
Mr. St. John resigned his seat to Edith Wayland, and moved away on the arm of his nephew.
"What a handsome man Mr. Templeton is," said the lovely girl shyly to Mrs. St. John.
The bride looked after his retreating figure with a curl of her scarlet lip.
"Yes, he is as handsome as a Greek god," she said, "but then, he is utterly heartless—a mere fortune-hunter."
"Oh! Mrs. St. John, surely not," said Miss Wayland, in an anxious tone. "Why should you think so?"
"Perhaps it would suit you as well not to hear," said Mrs. St. John, with an arch insinuation in her look and tone.
"By no means. Pray tell me your reasons for what you said, Mrs. St. John," said the sweet, blue-eyed girl, blushing very much, and nervously fluttering her white satin fan.