But she was fairly startled by the exquisite loveliness of the young girl. She had never seen her dressed with so much care before, and had not dreamed of having such a rival in her own dwelling.
Mr. Rosevelt was standing on the porch of the lodge when Star came along, and he, too, marveled at her exceeding beauty, saying to himself that he had never seen her so brilliant and spirited before.
And, indeed, he had not, for she never had been so thoroughly aroused before during all her residence in Mrs. Richards’ family.
“Good-morning, Uncle Jacob,” she said, brightly, as she saw him standing there, and her indignation immediately began to subside.
What was Josephine Richards that she should allow her to mar all the pleasure of her own holiday?—that she should drive the happiness from her heart, the sunlight from her face, when she was going to spend long hours of delight in Archibald Sherbrooke’s presence?
Nothing, save a coarse, rude girl, devoid of feeling or refinement; and with a resolute effort she drove her from her thoughts, the smile returned to her red lips, the light to her eye, as she ran lightly up the steps and stood beside Mr. Rosevelt.
“How well you are looking,” she said, gayly. “I just ran down to see if you were all right, and to jog your memory about our little celebration to-day.”
“You did not need to do that, Starling. I am as eager as a schoolboy for my day of pleasure,” he returned, with a fond smile, adding: “But how dainty you are this morning. I shouldn’t wonder if our artist friend would be wanting to paint the picture of a ‘star’ one of these days, eh?”
Star blushed and laughed lightly.
She could have told him, had she chosen, that it was already painted.