Both the young men gazed at this charming vision in frank delight, and as the unknown beauty and the gay little widow exchanged formal bows, exclaimed simultaneously:
“Who is that beautiful girl?”
Mrs. Fleming frowned jealously, bit her red lips, and answered, with some asperity:
“What geese men are! Always caught by theatricals! Couldn’t you both see that the bold thing was just posing for your benefit?”
“How exceedingly kind of her, to be sure! We certainly enjoyed the tableau very much,” lisped Royall Sherwood, a rich young man of the genus dude, who was Mrs. Fleming’s cousin, and visiting her at her summer home in Maryland, having brought with him Dallas Bain, a new friend he had made on the return trip from Europe, a month ago.
“I don’t know a thing about him, except that he’s clever and handsome, and seems to have plenty of money; but I like him immensely, so I brought him here with me, and if you’re not pleased you can just ship us both when you get tired,” Royall said coolly to his cousin, who answered gayly:
“I’ll never get tired, I assure you; the dear boy is too charming.”
That was ten days ago, and as time went by she found him more charming than ever, though there was about him a careless insouciance, a cynical indifference to her wiles, that piqued her into deeper earnestness, so that by the end of the first week she was passionately in love, and using every feminine art to bring him to her feet.
And, never having loved before, despite several pronounced flirtations, she was desperately in earnest.
At only twenty-five, she was the widow of an old man whom she had married for his money when she was only nineteen years old. Three years later he obligingly died, and left her the mistress of half a million, which she was enjoying in royal fashion. A selfish, careless little beauty, she had never felt the great passion of life till she met Dallas Bain, whose large, dark, flashing eyes had pierced her heart in a moment with love’s keen arrow.