CHAPTER XIV.
ROMA FINDS AN ALLY
Dolly Dorr was right. Handsome Malcolm Dean had never quitted Liane's side since the moment he had clasped her hand in congratulating her on her triumph as queen of beauty.
He remained by her side, enraptured with her beauty and her bashful grace, and he lost no time in preferring a request to walk home with her that night, thinking to himself how sweet it would be to walk with her beneath the brilliant moonlight, the little hand resting on his arm, while the low, musical voice answered his remarks with the timidity that showed how unconscious she was of her own enchanting beauty.
He could scarcely credit what they had told him this afternoon when examining the portraits: that Liane Lester was only a poor sewing girl, with a cruel grandmother, who beat her upon the slightest pretext, and never permitted her to have a lover.
"She looks like a young princess. It is a wonder that some brave young man has not eloped with her before now," he declared.
"Every one is afraid of Granny Jenks," they replied; but Jesse Devereaux only remained gravely silent. He had decided to win sweet Liane for his own, in spite of a hundred vixenish grannies.
He had sent her the fragrant roses to wear, determining to disclose his identity that night, and to win her sweet promise to be his bride.
Now his plans were all spoiled by the artist's sudden infatuation, and he could have cursed Roma for the spiteful manœuvring that had kept him an unwilling captive, while Liane was drifting beyond his reach.
All his pleasure was over for to-night, yet he did not give up hope for the future. His dark eyes had not failed to detect the joy in her glance, and the blush on her cheek at their meeting, and his ears had caught the little regretful ring in her voice, as she whispered that she had already promised Mr. Dean.
Presently the people all began to go away, and with keen pain he saw Liane leaving with her new admirer, her little hand resting like a snowflake on his black coat sleeve.
"But it shall be my turn to-morrow," he vowed to himself, turning away with a jealous pang, and pretending not to see Dolly Dorr, who had lingered purposely in his way, hoping he would see her home.
Disappointed in her little scheme, she rather crossly accepted the offer of a dapper dry-goods clerk, and went off on his arm, laughing with forced gayety as she passed Devereaux, to let him see that she did not care.
Devereaux did not even hear the laughter of the piqued little flirt. He could think of nothing but his keen disappointment over Liane. He returned to his hotel in the sulks.
After all his pleasant anticipations, his disappointment was keen and bitter.
"How can I wait until to-morrow?" he muttered, throwing himself down disconsolately into a chair.
Suddenly a messenger entered with a telegram, and, tearing it hastily open, he read:
Come at once. Father has had a stroke of apoplexy.
Lyde.
Lyde was his only sister, married a year before, and a leader in society. He could fancy how helpless she would be at this juncture—the pretty, petted girl.
Filial grief and affection drove even the thought of Liane temporarily from his mind.
Calling in a man to pack his effects, he left on the earliest train for his home in Boston.
But as the train rushed on through the night and darkness, Liane blended with his troubled thoughts, and he resolved that he would write to her at the earliest opportunity. He would not leave the field clear for his enamored rival.
He realized, too, that the clever and handsome artist would be a dangerous rival; still, he felt sure that Liane had some preference for himself. On this he based his hopes for Malcolm Dean's failure.
"She will not forget that night upon the beach, and the opportune service I did her. Her grateful little heart will not turn from me," he thought hopefully.
Malcolm Dean was the only one he could think of as likely to come between him and Liane. He had not an apprehension as to Roma Clarke's baleful jealousy. And yet he should have remembered the hate that had flashed from her eyes and hissed in her voice when she taxed him with voting for Liane.
Again, she had nearly fainted when he was excusing himself to speak to her successful rival.
And even now, while the fast-flying train bore him swiftly from Stonecliff, Roma paced her chamber floor like one distraught, wringing her hands and alternately bewailing her fate and vowing vengeance.
Before Roma's angry eyes seemed to move constantly the vision of her rival in her exquisite beauty. Liane, in her girlish white gown, with the fragrant pink roses at her slender waist—Liane, the humble sewing girl she had despised, but who had now become her hated rival.
Jesse Devereaux admired her; thought her the loveliest girl in the world. Perhaps, even, he was in love with her. That was why he had taken so gladly the dismissal she had so rashly given.
A fever of unavailing regret burned in Roma's veins, the fires of jealous hate gleamed in her flashing eyes.
"I would gladly see her dead at my feet," she cried furiously.
Before she sought her pillow, she had resolved on a plan to forestall Devereaux's courtship.
She would go to-morrow morning to see the wicked old grandmother of Liane; she would have a good excuse, because the old woman had desired the visit, and she would tell her that Devereaux was engaged to herself, and warn her not to permit her granddaughter to accept attentions that could mean nothing but evil. She would even bribe the old woman, if necessary. She was ready to make any sacrifice to punish Jesse for what she called to herself his perfidy, ignoring the fact that she had set him free to woo whom he would.
Granny was tidying up her floor next morning, when a footstep on the threshold made her start and look around at a vision of elegance and beauty framed in sunshine that made the coppery waves of her hair shine lurid red as the girl bowed courteously, saying:
"I am Miss Clarke. Mamma said you wished to see me."
Granny dropped her broom and sank into a chair, staring with dazed eyes at the radiant beauty in her silken gown.
As no invitation to enter was forthcoming, Roma stepped in and seated herself, with a supercilious glance at the shabby surroundings. She thought to herself disdainfully:
"To think of being rivaled in both beauty and love by a low-born girl raised in a hovel!"
Yet she saw that everything was scrupulously clean and neat, as though Liane made the best of what she had.
The old woman, without speaking a word, stared at Roma with eager eyes, as if feasting on her beauty, a tribute to her vanity that pleased Roma well, so she smiled graciously and waited with unwonted patience until granny heaved a long sigh, and exclaimed:
"It is a pleasure to behold you at last, Miss Roma, as a beauty and an heiress! Ah, you must be very happy!"
The young girl sighed mournfully:
"Wealth and beauty cannot give happiness when one's lover is fickle, flirting with poor girls at the expense of their reputations."
"What do you mean?" gasped the old woman, and somehow Roma felt that she was making a favorable impression, and did not hesitate to add:
"I am speaking of your granddaughter, Liane Lester. The girl is rather pretty, and I suppose that her vanity makes her ambitious to marry rich. She flirts with every young man she sees, and lately she has been making eyes at my betrothed husband, Jesse Devereaux, a handsome young millionaire. He loves me as he does his life, but he is a born flirt, and he is amusing himself with Liane in spite of my objections. So I thought I would come and ask you to scold the girl for her boldness."
"Scold her! That I will, and whip her, too, if you say so! I will do anything to please you, beautiful lady," whimpered granny, moving closer to Roma, and furtively stroking her rich dress with a skinny, clawlike hand, while she looked at the girl with eager eyes.
Roma frowned a little at this demonstration of tenderness, but she was glad the old woman took it so calmly about Liane, and answered coolly:
"So that you keep them apart, I do not care how much you whip her, for her boldness deserves a check, and I suppose that you cannot restrain her, except by beating."
She was surprised and almost shocked as granny whispered hoarsely:
"I would beat her—yes; I would kill her before she should steal your grand lover, darling!"
CHAPTER XV.
"A DYING MOTHER."
Even Roma's cruel heart was somewhat shocked at granny's malevolence toward her beautiful young granddaughter, but she did not rebuke the old hag; she only resolved to make capital of it. So she said:
"I don't want you to kill her, but I wish you could take her away from here, where Jesse Devereaux can never find her again. She is in my way, and I want her removed!"
"It would be worth money to you to get her out of your way," leered granny cunningly:
Roma hesitated a moment, then answered frankly:
"Yes, but I could not promise to pay you much. Papa makes me a very small allowance."
The old woman crept nearer to the beautiful, cruel creature, and gazed up into her face with an expression of humble adoration, while she murmured wheedlingly:
"I would take her away from here—far away—where she could never trouble you again, pretty lady, for a reward that even you could afford to bestow."
"What is that?" cried Roma eagerly, and she was startled when granny answered nervously:
"A kiss!"
"A kiss!" the girl echoed wonderingly.
Granny was actually trembling with excitement, and she added pleadingly:
"You are so pretty, Miss Roma, that I have fallen in love with you, and for my love's sake I would like to kiss you once. If you grant my wish, I will be your slave for only one kind look and kiss!"
She was softened and agitated in a strange fashion, but she could not help seeing that Roma recoiled in surprise and disgust.
"Really, this is very strange! I—I am not fond of kissing old women. I scarcely ever kiss even my own mother. I would much rather pay you a little money!" she exclaimed.
Granny's face saddened with disappointment, and she muttered:
"So proud; so very proud! She could not bear a downfall!"
Roma flushed with annoyance, and added:
"You seem so very poor that even a small sum of money ought to be acceptable to you!"
"I am miserably poor, but I love you—I would rather have the kiss."
If Roma had known the old woman's miserly character she would have been even more surprised at her fancy. As it was, she hardly knew what to say. She gazed in disgust at the ugly, yellow-skinned and wrinkled old hag, and wondered if she could bring herself to touch that face with her own fresh, rosy lips.
"I—I would rather give you a hundred dollars than to kiss you!" she blurted out, in passionate disgust.
Instantly she saw she had made a grave mistake. Granny drew back angrily from the haughty girl, muttering:
"Hoity-toity, what pride! But pride always goes before a fall!"
"What do you mean?" flashed Roma.
A moment's silence, and granny answered cringingly:
"I only meant that you would be humiliated if that pretty Liane stole Devereaux's heart from you and married him. The other night I beat Liane for walking with him on the beach by moonlight!"
"Heavens! It is worse even than I thought!" cried Roma, springing to her feet, pale with passion.
She advanced toward granny, adding:
"Will you take her away by to-morrow, and never let him see her face again if I grant your wish?"
"I swear it, honey!"
"There, then!" and Roma held up her fresh, rosy lips, shuddering with disgust as the old crone gave her an affectionate kiss that smacked very strongly of an old pipe.
"Be sure that you keep your promise!" she cried, hastening from the house.
Granny watched her until she was out of sight, clasping her skinny arms across her breast, after the fashion of one fondling a beloved child.
"How proud, how beautiful!" she kept saying over to herself in delight. Then she went in and closed the door, while she sat down to make her plans for gratifying Roma's wish.
Not a breath of last night's happenings had reached her, for she seldom held communication with any one, being feared and hated by the whole community, as much as Liane was loved and pitied. She knew nothing of the popular beauty contest, and that Liane had won the prize of a hundred dollars. If she had known, she would have managed to get possession of the money ere now. Liane, having spent the night with Mary Lang, had gone to her work from there, and was having an ovation from her girl friends, who put self aside and rejoiced with her over her triumph.
The proud and happy girl answered gratefully:
"But for your persuasions I should never have ventured to send in my picture for the contest. I want to testify my gratitude by giving each of you five dollars to buy a pretty keepsake."
They protested they would not take a penny of her little fortune, but the generous girl would not be denied.
"I have seventy-five dollars left! I am rich yet!" she cried gayly, for Liane was the happiest girl in the world to-day.
But it was neither her signal triumph nor the money that made her happy, it was because she had seen Jesse Devereaux again, and his radiant, dark eyes had told her the story of his love as plain as words.
Though she was grateful to the handsome artist for his attentions, she was disappointed because he had kept Jesse from walking home with her last night.
But she looked eagerly for some demonstration from him to-day. Perhaps he would send her some more flowers, for he had whispered gladly as they parted:
"Thank you for wearing the roses I sent you!"
Liane's heart leaped with joy at hearing the flowers had come from Jesse, and she placed them carefully away that night, determined to keep them always, for his dear sake.
How her heart sank when Dolly Dorr, who had been rather quiet and sulky that morning, suddenly remarked:
"Mr. Devereaux went off, bag and baggage, they say, to Boston last night, so I suppose that is the last we shall see of him!"
Liane could not keep from exclaiming regretfully:
"Oh, dear!"
"You seem to be sorry!" Dolly cried significantly.
All eyes turned on Liane, and she blushed rosy red as she bent lower over the work she was sewing.
Dolly added curtly:
"I did not think you would be so ready to take away another girl's chance, Liane."
"But he has broken with Miss Clarke. They quarreled last night," said Lottie Day.
"I did not mean Miss Clarke. I meant myself. Liane knows he has paid me some attention, and that I have set my cap at him! I thought she was my true friend, but I caught her making eyes at him last night!" Dolly exclaimed ruefully.
The gay girls all laughed at Dolly's jealousy, but Liane could not say a word for embarrassment, knowing in her heart how baseless were Dolly's hopes.
The angry little maiden continued:
"He told me last night that he was free from Miss Clarke; and I believe I could win him if no one tried to spoil the sport. I would never have introduced him to Liane if I had thought she would try to cut me out."
"Oh, Dolly, you know I have not tried. Could I help his coming to speak to me last night?" cried Liane.
"No, but you needn't have encouraged him by flirting when he spoke to you, blushing and rolling up your eyes."
A derisive groan went around among the merry band at Dolly's charge, and Mary Lang spoke up spiritedly:
"Dolly Dorr, you are simply making yourself ridiculous, putting in a claim to Mr. Devereaux because he happened to speak to you once or twice! Any one with half an eye can see he's in love with Liane, and I'll state for your benefit that he told her last night he sent her that bouquet of roses, and he wanted to walk home with her, only Mr. Dean was ahead of him!"
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" ran the chorus of voices, Liane drooping her head in blushing confusion, and Dolly pouting with disappointment, while she cried spitefully:
"He's nothing but a wretched flirt! He flirted with Miss Clarke, and then with me, and next with Liane! I'm glad he got ashamed of himself, and sneaked off; and I hope he will never come back!"
Her little fit of temper spoiled the rest of the day for the girls, and Liane Lester was glad to get away at six o'clock, where, after a while, she could be alone with her own thoughts.
But granny was sniveling, with her apron to her eyes, when she entered the poverty-stricken room.
"What is it, granny? Are you ill?" she asked.
"No, I have bad news!"
"Bad news?"
"Yes; I've heard from my daughter, your mother, at last. She's dying down to Boston, and wants you and me to come," with an artful sob.
"But, of course, we cannot go!" Liane said, with strange reluctance.
"But, of course, we can. I've got a little money; enough for the trip. I've just been waiting for you to come and help me to pack our clothes."
"That will not take long. Our wardrobes are not extensive. But, I—I don't want to go!" declared Liane.
"You unnatural child, not to want to see your poor dying mother!" snapped the old woman.
"She has been an unnatural mother!" answered the girl warmly.
"No matter about that! She is my child, and I want to see her before she dies, and you've got to go, willy-nilly! So go along with you and get the tea ready; then we will get packed to go on the first train!" declared granny, with grim resolution.
CHAPTER XVI.
A LOVE LETTER
Liane's little sewing chair was vacant the next day, and there was grief and surprise among the five girls present when Miss Bray explained the reason.
Liane had sent her a little note the night before, she said, telling her that her grandmother was taking her to Boston to see a dying relative, and she did not know when she should be back, but hoped Miss Bray would have work for her on her return. She left her dear love for all the girls, and hoped she should see them soon again.
Every one expressed sorrow but Dolly Dorr, who from spite and envy had suddenly changed from a friend to an enemy of Liane.
Dolly tossed her pretty, flaxen head scornfully and insinuated ugly things about Liane following Jesse Devereaux to Boston. A dying relative was a good excuse, but it could not fool Dolly Dorr, she said significantly.
The other girls took the part of the absent one, and even Miss Bray gently reproved Dolly for her slanderous words. The upshot of the matter was that she grew red and angry, and developed the rage of a little termagant. Taking offense at Miss Bray's rebuke, she angrily resigned her position, tossed her jaunty cap on her fluffy, yellow head, and flew home.
The ambition to captivate Jesse Devereaux had quite turned the silly little noddle, and she was passionately angry at Liane for what she denominated "her unfair rivalry."
But on reaching home and finding that her father had just been thrown out of work, Dolly was a little flustrated at her own precipitancy in leaving her place, especially as Mrs. Dorr, a weak, hard-worked woman, bewailed their misfortunes in copious tears.
"Don't cry like that, mamma, I know of a better place than Miss Bray's, where I can find work. Miss Clarke wants a maid," cried Dolly eagerly.
Mrs. Dorr's pride rebelled at first from her pretty daughter going into service like that, but the notion had quite taken hold of Dolly, and in the end the worried mother yielded to her persuasions, especially as the wages were liberal, and would help them so much in their present strait.
Dolly hurried off to Cliffdene, and asked for Miss Clarke, offering her services for the vacant place, as Liane Lester had gone away.
Roma's red-brown eyes flashed with joyful fire as she cried:
"Where has she gone?"
"Her grandmother took her to Boston to see a dying relative, miss."
"Ah!" exclaimed Roma, and her heart leaped with joy as she realized that granny had kept her promise to take Liane far away.
"Now I may have some chance of winning Jesse back again," she thought.
But Dolly's next words threw a damper on her springing hopes.
"Liane can't fool me with a tale of a dying relative! I believe she had an understanding with Jesse Devereaux to follow him down to Boston," she exclaimed spitefully.
Roma started violently, her rich color paling to ashen gray.
"Jesse Devereaux gone!" she cried, in uncontrollable agitation that betrayed her jealous heart to Dolly's keen eyes.
The girl thought shrewdly:
"She loves him even if he did tell me he was not engaged. Whew! won't she hate Liane when she knows all!"
And, taking advantage of Roma's mood, she added:
"Liane has been flirting for some time with Mr. Devereaux, and the night she got the beauty prize he sent her roses to wear, and voted for her, and offered to walk home with her that night, only he was disappointed, because Mr. Malcolm Dean had asked her first."
Roma, inwardly furious with jealous rage, tossed her proud head carelessly, and answered:
"Mr. Devereaux cares nothing for the girl! He is engaged to me, but we had a little tiff, and he was just flirting with her to pique me because I would not make up with him just yet!"
Although she regarded Dolly as greatly her inferior, she was placing herself on a level with her by these confidences, encouraging Dolly to reply:
"Of course, I know he wouldn't marry Liane, but she was foolish enough to think so, and I feel certain she's down to Boston with him now."
Roma knew better, but she only smiled significantly, giving Dolly the impression that she agreed with her entirely, and then she said:
"I will agree to give you a week's trial, and mamma's maid can instruct you as to your duties. When can you come?"
"To-morrow, if you wish."
"Very well. I shall expect you," returned Roma, abruptly ending the interview.
When Dolly was going back the next day, she stopped in at the post office for her mail, and the smiling little clerk in the window, as he handed it out, exclaimed:
"Don't Miss Liane Lester work with you at Miss Bray's, Miss Dolly? There's a letter for her this morning, the first letter, I believe, that ever came for her, and now that I come to think about it, she never calls here for mail, anyhow!"
Dolly's cheeks flushed guiltily, and her heart gave a strangling thump of surprise, but she said, quite coolly:
"Yes, Liane works at Miss Bray's with me, and I'm going down there now, so I'll take her letter, if you please, and save her the trouble of calling for it."
The unsuspecting clerk readily handed it out, and Dolly clutched it with a trembling hand, hurrying out so as to read the superscription and gratify her curiosity.
"What a beautiful handwriting! A man's, too, and postmarked Boston. Now, it must be Devereaux or Dean writing to her!" she muttered, longing to open it, yet not quite daring to commit the crime.
She placed it at last in her pocket, thinking curiously:
"As I don't know where Liane is, of course I cannot forward this letter to her, and—I would give anything in the world to know what is in it, and who wrote it! Perhaps Miss Clarke would know the writing."
That evening, when she was brushing out the long tresses of Roma's hair, she ventured on the subject:
"To-day the postmaster gave me a letter from Boston to Liane Lester, but I don't know where to send it, and I am wondering who wrote it!"
She felt Roma give a quick start as she cried:
"Let me see it!"
Dolly giggled, and brought it out of her pocket.
"Oh! It is Mr. Devereaux's writing," cried Roma excitedly.
"So I thought, miss. Now I wonder what he wrote to her about? I must be mistaken thinking he knew she had gone to Boston," cried Dolly.
Roma turned the letter over and over in her hand, her eyes blazing, her cheeks crimson, her heart throbbing with jealous rage.
How dared he write to Liane? How dared he forget her, Roma, so insolently, and so soon? She would have liked to see them both stretched dead at her feet!
They looked guiltily at each other, the mistress and maid, one thought in either mind. Dare they open the letter?
Dolly twittered:
"I shouldn't think you would allow him to write to her! He belongs to you!"
She felt like making common cause with Roma against Liane, in her bitter envy forgetting how often she had inveighed against Roma's pride and cruelty. She continued artfully:
"The letter can never do her any good, because we don't know where to send it. And—and would it be any harm for us to take a peep at it?"
"I think I have a right," Roma answered, her bosom heaving stormily, then she clutched Dolly's arm:
"Girl, girl, if we do this thing—you and I—will you swear never to betray me?" she breathed hoarsely.
"I swear!" Dolly muttered fiercely, in her anger at Liane, and then Roma's impatience burst all bounds. She quickly broke the seal of the letter, her angry eyes running over the scented sheets, while Dolly coolly read it over her shoulder.
And if ever two cruel hearts were punished for their curiosity, they were Roma's, the mistress, and Dolly's, the maid.
It was an impassioned love letter that Devereaux had written to Liane, and it ended with the offer of his hand, as she already possessed his heart.
The young lover had chosen the sweetest words and phrases to declare his passion, and he explained everything that she might have misunderstood.
He had fallen in love with her at first sight, but he was bound by a promise to one he no longer even admired. In honor he could not speak to Liane, but his betrothed had herself broken the fetters that bound him, and he was free now to woo his darling. He had intended to tell her so that night of the beauty contest, but Malcolm Dean had rivaled him. Then had come the summons to his sick father, tearing him away from Stonecliff. He must remain some time in Boston with his sinking father, and his impatience prompted this letter. Would Liane correspond with him? Would she be his beloved wife, the treasure of his heart and home? He should wait with burning impatience for her reply.
Roma threw the letter on the floor and stamped on it with her angry foot.
Not in such tender, passionate phrases had he wooed her when she promised him her hand, but in light, airy words, born of the flirtation through which she had successfully steered him to a proposal so quickly regretted, so gladly taken back. Oh, how she loved and hated him in a breath!
As for the girl, thank Heaven, granny had promised to keep her out of the way. Ay, even to kill her, if she commanded it. It was strange how the old woman had fallen so slavishly under her sway, but she was thankful for it, though she shuddered still with disgust at remembrance of granny's fond caress.
She said to herself that it were better for Liane Lester that she never had been born than to cross her path again, and to take from her the love of the man she had worked so hard to win, and then so rashly lost.