Mrs. Montague was not altogether pleased at his lukewarmness. To offset it, she planned the lawn fête to announce the betrothal. When the fact became public property, he must name the day.
We have seen how fate stepped in between and foiled their plans, and how the ominous shadow of that night’s disappointment hung over Rosalind’s ambitious hopes.
“What has put this notion of a rival in your head, dear girl?” continued the mother curiously.
Rosalind hesitated a moment, and a cold, angry glitter shone in her eyes, as she whispered:
“Mamma, of course I know the hard things that are said of Charley—that he is fond of cards, women, and wine. Well, I happen to know that the very day of our fête, even by my very side, my lover was attracted by a new beauty, and could not hide his admiration.”
“A new beauty—who?” demanded Mrs. Montague uneasily.
“You will be startled, mamma, but you will see that I am not jealous without a cause. Listen,” and Rosalind poured out the story of the morning ride when Charley Bonair had bowed to and admired little Berry Vining.
“He said, to my very face, that she was the prettiest girl he ever saw, but I told him how poor and humble she was, and ridiculed his fancy. I found out afterward that he rode back from my side to the florist’s, and sent her a great bunch of red roses. Was not that enough to make any engaged girl angry and jealous, mamma?”
“I must admit you are quite right, darling. Oh, what wretches men are!”
“Yes, indeed, and naturally after that I was jealous and suspicious. When he did not come that night I was almost wild, wondering if I was deserted already for the little village beauty. I did not sleep that night for anger and grief, though I was too proud to tell you until now, when I can no longer bear my trouble alone, because I am haunted always by two torturing questions.”