“You belong to Amber. You were betrothed to her when I came home!”
He denied it with passionate vehemence:
“I admired Miss Laurens very much, but I only called on her to pass away the time. I never spoke to her of love or marriage!”
“Then you were a wretched flirt, Cecil Grant! for your attentions made me think you loved me, and all our friends predicted our speedy marriage!” cried an indignant voice, and there was Amber, magnificently beautiful in an elaborate white gown and gleaming, amber jewels.
She had watched him from her window going down to the river and followed him, eager for an interview on this romantic spot.
And this was her reward, to hear his avowal of love for her cousin and indifference for herself.
Oh, how cruelly her proud and loving heart was stung by the serpent of jealousy coiling there!
She could have slain the pair of lovers, so close together there beneath the shade of the golden willows.
And she could not repress the bitter, reproachful words with which she startled them from their sweet love-dream.
Cecil Grant sprang to his feet, crying, eagerly: