He tried to smile and chat as usual with Maybelle and Otho, but his thoughts wandered from them in spite of himself.
Oh, how strange it was—how strange! Only a careless glance from a pair of blue eyes, as the girl had smiled and nodded at Otho Maury, and all the world had changed for St. George Beresford. He wondered vaguely if his glance had made any impression on the girl’s heart.
CHAPTER III.
A DASTARDLY PLOT.
The first moment that Maybelle was alone with Otho she clung to his arm, whispering, sorrowfully:
“Otho, I am wretched! Did you mean what you said this morning—that St. George admired that girl?”
“Yes, I meant it, every word, Maybelle, for it is true, curse the luck! and unless we carry things with a high hand, he is lost to you forever. In fact, I never saw a fellow so hard hit in all my life. He actually turned white to the lips with emotion, and his voice was hoarse and strange as he demanded her name; and, of course, you noticed how distrait and half-hearted he has been all day?”
“Yes, I saw it too plainly; but, oh, I can not give him up! Oh, surely, he would not stoop to her—so far beneath him socially! Besides, she isn’t so pretty, either—only with a babyish kind of beauty.”
“Not so pretty, Maybelle! Why, now you make a fatal mistake, underrating the girl’s charms. Half the fellows are raving over her style; and she could have a dozen proposals to-morrow, only she laughs them to scorn, the saucy little darling!”
“You are very enthusiastic, Otho!” she cried, suspiciously. “Perhaps you are in love with her yourself. I wish you would marry her to-morrow, and make it impossible for her to become my rival.”