She set herself to win him without a thought of defeat, for she was very pretty in a doll-like fashion, petite, with turquoise-blue eyes, and crinkly flaxen hair always in the most picturesque disorder. Not a fear of rivalry crossed her mind, for although she had several young girls as guests, she had been careful to invite only those who were plain-looking enough to serve as a foil to her own beauty. To Daisie Bell she had never given a thought till this moment, when, on their drive, the coachman had turned into Temple Street just to vary the route, and her visitors had seen the young girl in her wondrous beauty, that, once seen, could never be forgotten.
What a careless encounter it seemed, yet one fraught with fate!
“Couldn’t you both see that the bold thing was just posing for your benefit?” she exclaimed, in jealous alarm; and Royall had answered as above recorded, winking significantly at his friend; but Dallas said not a word, but gazed, with his heart in his eyes, at the beauty till she was out of sight.
Then he drew a long breath that was mingled delight and pain, and cried eagerly:
“But who is she, Mrs. Fleming?”
“Yes, who is she, and why haven’t we met her at your receptions, Lutie?” added Royall.
Tossing her head and curling a scornful lip, the lady returned maliciously:
“Oh, she isn’t in our set at all—only a poor relation of some people here; a teacher, or shop girl from New York, who comes here every summer to visit her kin and rest from work. And they’re all poor, as you can see from the back street and the five-roomed cottage.”
She thought that this explanation ought to settle the subject forever; but Royall persisted:
“Lutie, why don’t you tell us her name?”