It could not be; she would not have it so, when she had plotted and schemed to win this proud, handsome young aristocrat for her daughter; when she had spent hundreds to snare him; and when, she knew but too well, Josephine had learned to love him with all the fire of her proud, passionate nature.
If it had been a girl in a position equal to that which Josephine occupied whom he had chosen, the disappointment would not have been less severe, but the mortification would not have been so galling.
This was what had made Star’s face so radiant, then, during the past week, making her seem to bloom into new beauty, and glorifying her with exceeding happiness. She had noticed, but could not understand it.
This was the meaning of the unusual attention which she had bestowed upon her toilet last Saturday—for Josephine had told her of that little scene upon the veranda—and also of her protracted absence that day.
For half an hour she sat there, white as alabaster with passion, her eyes glowing with hate for the innocent cause of all her disappointment.
“Not in her room, eh?” she muttered at length, vindictively. “I’ll find the little vixen, and if it is possible to widen this breach, it won’t be my fault if it is not done.”
With a cruel expression on her still white face, she arose and swept noiselessly from the room by the same way that she had entered, and passed down the steps of the veranda out into the grounds.
With a quick, swinging pace she walked down the avenue, casting keen glances among the trees and shrubbery as she went.
But Star was nowhere to be seen.
Mrs. Richards, however, was determined to have an interview with her before either her husband or Lord Carrol could do so. She did not think she had returned to the house, and had an idea that she might be at the lodge with Mr. Rosevelt, so she persevered in her search.