But not to those who hate!”
Leola felt a small, gloved hand pressing hers very hard, looked into bluebell eyes under flaxen waves of hair, and turned cold with dislike and repulsion, dreading every moment to see over the blonde’s shoulder her husband’s face, handsome and winning, with the laughing blue eyes that had smiled her heart away.
With a strong effort she pulled herself together, calling her passionate pride to her aid. They should not see her wince; she would show them she had forgotten him. She said, coldly:
“So it is you, Jessie Stirling? How long have you been over?”
“Oh, since early spring shopping for my trousseau, you know,” twittered Jessie, gayly.
“Then you are not married yet?” Leola cried, eagerly.
“No; but I shall be soon—in late July. Chester was ill so long, you know,” she twittered on; then, at the startled look in Leola’s dark eyes, “Oh, I forgot you went away so abruptly that night before everything happened—the explosion and all! Tell me, haven’t you ever heard from home? from any of them? Not a word, you say? How very strange! Leola, is your carriage waiting? Yes? Then I will go for a drive with you, and tell you everything. We can come back for our shopping later”—dragging her out.
CHAPTER XVIII.
“IF HATE COULD KILL.”
The two fair young girls stepped into the elegant equipage, and as it rolled down the glittering boulevard in the glorious sunshine, they were the cynosure of all eyes.