"Perhaps at Stonecliff?"
"Then you have guessed at my passion for the beautiful prize winner."
"It was patent to all observers that night," Devereaux answered, in a strangled voice, with a fierce thumping of the heart. Oh, God, how cruel it was to discuss her with his fortunate rival, who had only to ask and have.
Dean noticed nothing unusual. He continued earnestly:
"I don't mind owning to the truth, Devereaux. Yes, I lost my heart irretrievably that night to lovely Liane Lester, and I made up my mind to overlook the difference in our position and woo her for my own. But I had to go to Philadelphia the next day, and I was detained there some time getting my design ready for the magazine, and this was followed by a spell of illness. At length, all impatience, I returned to Stonecliff two days ago to seek the fair girl who had charmed me so. Fancy my dismay when I found her gone, and no clue to her whereabouts!"
Again Devereaux's heart thumped furiously.
"You loved her very much?" he asked hoarsely.
"I adored her. She was to me the incarnation of simple beauty and purity."
"And had you any token of her preference in return?"
"None. She was too shy and bashful to give me the sign the coquette might have deemed befitting. She hid her heart beneath the drooping fringe of her dark, curling lashes. Yet I dared to hope, and there was one thing in my favor: I did not have a rival."