"You seem to have succeeded in interesting her, as you interested my aunt and me," said Olive, with one of her wintry smiles. "Miss Lloyd has seen so little of the world, and is so fresh and untutored, that anyone could interest her whose conversation was not absolutely stupid." "John Pomeroy, the Hesperian fruit is within your grasp!" said Miss Deane, changing her manner in a moment to one of intense earnestness. "Put forth your hand and seize it. Be not slow to make it your own. If you are, be sure that some one else will quickly claim the golden prize." Her black eyes, fixed steadily on his face, seemed full of some hidden meaning. With a grave inclination of the head, she turned and slowly left the room. "I _will_ seize the golden fruit, chère demoiselle; I _will_ make it my own!" muttered Pomeroy to himself, as Olive closed the door. "Though why you should feel so strange an interest in my fortunes is more than I can comprehend. A crooked brain and a dark heart are yours, Olive Deane, or else my reading of your character is altogether a wrong one." CHAPTER XI. IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. The feeling of curiosity which had actuated Miss Deane in her desire to see her rival, as she called Eleanor Lloyd in her thoughts, had been almost as powerful as that which, for the time being, had made John Pomeroy its slave. When Miss Deane did see Eleanor, she could not help acknowledging to herself that Matthew Kelvin's violent passion for that lady was not without some justification. That Miss Lloyd was indeed very lovely, she at once admitted; for Olive was free from that common feminine failing which refuses to acknowledge that another, and more especially a rival, can be the possessor of superior charms, either of person or mind; and she told herself at once that, as far as mere good looks went, she could not hope to stand the slightest chance in a comparison with Miss Lloyd. So long as Miss Lloyd should remain unmarried, Matthew Kelvin would never look with serious eyes elsewhere; and Olive saw with a sort of savage satisfaction how quickly and readily Mr. John Pomeroy had fallen into the same toils in which the lawyer had been enmeshed before him. Her keen eyes saw that which was suspected by no one else--that a few short hours had indeed sufficed to seal Pomeroy's fate. So far everything had gone well with her; everything had answered her highest expectations. But when she looked on the other side of the question; when she came to ask herself, "Does this girl return this man's love?" she could not feel quite so sanguine as to the result. That Eleanor liked the company of John Pomeroy, and that his conversation interested her, Olive could see clearly enough. But liking is not love, though it is often a big stride on the road towards it. All that was left her to do was to hope for the best and to remain as quietly watchful as she had hitherto been.