“But if she is really the author of the book—it has been very popular, you know——”
“Nonsense!” interrupted her mother. “I tell you such a thing could not be possible.”
Nevertheless, Mrs. Richards was closely watching the object of their conversation, and her heart was beating with a painful throb, for the young girl did strangely resemble that poor orphan whom she had so despised and ill-treated, and who had fled from her tyranny.
But her uneasiness increased, for just now she observed a tall, white-haired gentleman moving toward the girl, and upon reaching her side, he bent down and spoke a few words in her ear.
His back also was toward them, but the matron’s face was dark with trouble; she grew white with the sudden fear which possessed her, and she moved forward to get a better view of the couple.
At that instant Star turned and lifted her bright face to reply to Mr. Rosevelt, who had left his position by the stand of flowers when she ceased dancing and approached her, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing, and her coral lips wreathed with bright smiles, and both Josephine and Mrs. Richards recognized her instantly.
A low cry of surprise and dismay broke from Josephine Richards’ lips.
“It is—it surely is Stella Gladstone,” she said; “and that man talking to her is certainly Uncle Jacob Rosevelt! What can it all mean?”
“Rosevelt! Yes, that is the name,” said Mr. Pendleton, who had caught it, and who had first called their attention to Star. “‘Jacob Rosevelt, the millionaire,’ I heard him called this afternoon, but I forget names so easily.”
“Jacob Rosevelt, the millionaire!” repeated Mrs. Richards, with white lips and astonished eyes, while a tumult of emotions raged within her heart.