“That is an old story. I do not wish to hear any more—not that I believe what you have told me! It is all jargon—he shall make up with me!” muttered the proud, beautiful creature, tearing her hand from madame’s, and flinging out of the room in a rage.
As Jessie opened the door for her exit she gave the girl one keen, disdainful glance, whispering to herself like one distraught:
“A lovely blonde! But she shall rue the day she comes between us!”
She swept out of the house like a beautiful fury, and Jessie sighed.
“She must be very unhappy in spite of her silks and jewels!”
Then she forgot the haughty beauty in tender thoughts of the man who had preceded her—“my lover” she already called him softly to herself.
Ah, they give their faith too oft,
To the careless wooer;
Maidens’ hearts are always soft,
Would that men’s were truer!