He mounted his mare and rode cannilie;
And after he thought, as he gaed through the glen:
‘She’s daft to refuse the Laird of Cockpen!’”
The pert song was followed by a brilliant waltz, a march, a sonata, then some sentimental songs. Evidently, Thea West was in the highest spirits. No sympathy did the rejected suitor get from his heartless lady-love. She had forgotten him long before he turned away from the sound of her maddening melody and went back from his suburban home to the chief dry-goods store in the village, where he was employed as clerk, and where so many pretty faces smiled daily on the good-looking, well-dressed young man that he could not help knowing that he was a favorite beau—a knowledge that made Thea West’s insouciant scorn sting even more bitterly.
His proposal had had an undreamed-of listener—his sister Emmie, a tall, rather pretty brunette of twenty years. The young lady had been sitting at a vine-wreathed window, close to the porch, unnoticed by anyone, and every word had plainly reached her ears. Her cheeks crimsoned with mortification as she realized that Thea West had rejected the hand of her elder brother, whom Emmie loved so dearly, and of whom she was so proud, knowing well that there were a score of girls in the village who would have gladly said yes to his offer. Beaus were scarce and young girls plentiful in the town of Louisa.
“The pert thing! Refusing Tom, just as if he wasn’t ever so much too good for her, and making fun of him into the bargain! I suppose it’s because she’s dead in love with Frank, and he as good as engaged to Maude Fitz, although it’s true he has hardly been near her since Thea came home from Staunton. I suppose he’ll marry Thea and give Maude the go-by now. I declare, I never will like Thea as well as I used to, after this, and I’ll give her a piece of my mind, too, about her boldness in asking Frank to take her to the party, and I think I’ll give Charley McVey a hint about her carryings-on, as I fancy he was beginning to get sweet on her, too,” Emmie muttered, irately, for Charley McVey had been her favorite beau for some time, and it was here that she suffered most deeply in her pride.
For thirteen years Thea West, as she was called by her own desire, had been a well-beloved inmate of George Hinton’s home, petted by all, and happy in their kindness. Mrs. de Vere had sent regularly a sum sufficient for her maintenance, and when she was eleven years old had directed that she should be sent to boarding-school at Staunton, a city about twenty-five miles from where the Hintons lived.
Emmie had also attended the same school, but had graduated two years before. Thea had spent all her vacations at the home of Uncle George, as she called Mr. Hinton, and upon her graduation this summer had come back there to stay.
She was seventeen years old now, and the cherubic beauty of her childhood had fulfilled its rare promise. She was lovely in a bright, bewitching fashion that carried all hearts by storm. Piquant features; large sapphire-blue eyes with long, curling lashes of chestnut brown, and slender, arched brows of the same lovely color; dimples; a skin like the velvet petals of a tea-rose; an arch, red mouth; a wealth of golden hair; a form divinely molded; feet and hands of the most aristocratic beauty and delicacy—no wonder that the dazzled youth of Louisa could look at no one else when she was by. Yet in no sense was Thea a flirt, although her high spirits, her charming cordiality and engaging frankness of manner, coupled with her striking beauty, had begun to earn for her that unenviable reputation.
She was only a lovely, high-spirited, noble young girl, with strong capabilities for enjoying life, and eager to do so—a fair type of bright, happy maidenhood—