The angry girl had sought her mother upon leaving the anteroom, and told her of Star’s presence there.
“I declare it is more than human nature can bear to be obliged to encounter her everywhere. And to think that such a miserable, insignificant little chit as she was when she came to us should win game after game from us. She is a proverbial checkmate, I believe,” Mrs. Richards said, complainingly. “But even if she does become Lady Carrol,” she added, “I shall take care that she does not outshine us. Thank fortune, we shall have a handsome income to flourish upon.”
“I hate her—I hate them both! and I wish I were dead!” Josephine cried, passionately.
When Mr. Rosevelt, Lord Carrol, and his party were about retiring, they encountered the Richardses in the great hall.
Mr. Rosevelt took no notice of them, although he would have greeted Mr. Richards had he been with them, and they guiltily avoided him.
The young lord bowed coldly, and would have passed on, but Josephine, in a sudden fit of desperation, laid her hand upon his arm, saying, in low, fierce tones:
“I give you joy of your chambermaid bride! But beware! You will not feel quite so jovial when all London rings with the fact that the proud Lord Carrol has married a common house-servant!”
“Miss Richards,” he returned, haughtily, “even such a statement of facts could not injure the fair, pure woman whom I have chosen for my wife; but allow me to say that if you are so ill-disposed as to publish anything of the kind, you will find, to your sorrow, that the shafts from your venomous tongue will only serve to poison still further your own life.”
“We shall see!” she sneered.
“You will find,” he went on, as if he had not heard her, “that Miss Gladstone is so far above you, both morally and socially, that it does not lie in your power to do her the slightest injury.”