Into this coterie of beauties and gallants Norman de Vere now intruded, and his fame, no less than his darkly handsome, melancholy face, secured for him the most flattering attention. But Miss Bentley at once took possession of him, and during his call--which was as long as conventionality would permit--he was not allowed so much as a minute’s quiet conversation with Thea. He spoke to her formally across the room, and had the pleasure of hearing that she was having a delightful time, and that the riding-lessons went on daily. Miss Bentley, who had long adored the handsome widower in secret, monopolized him entirely, and Cameron Bentley tried to do the same by Thea. So Norman went away disappointed, his chagrin hardly soothed by the fact that in spite of being “so old,” as he phrased it to himself, he had been lionized by the Bentleys and their guests and invited to come the next day. He could remember nothing very clearly, except that Thea had looked almost unpardonably young and happy, and that her dress of rich dark-green cashmere with plush trimmings was quite the most becoming he had ever seen her wear, setting off the gold of her hair till it seemed like living sunshine, and bringing out all the rose-leaf tints of her dazzling complexion at their best. She had not looked at him much, not daring to meet his eyes with the memory fresh in her mind of the verses she had been rash enough to permit him to read. “No doubt he is laughing in his sleeve at me now. Of course they seemed wishy-washy trash to him,” she thought, ruefully; then a little later, jealously: “But he is not thinking of me. He is quite absorbed in Miss Bentley. She is handsome, and she likes him, I know. It was easy to find that out. What if it is a mutual affair?” Her heart sunk, and the flushed cheeks grew a shade paler with fear. When he was gone and Thea was alone in her room that night, she gave way to hysteric tears. “He shall never call me his sister again. I will not bear it,” she vowed. “I will be all or nothing. What if he is ever so much older and richer and smarter than I am? Old men have married pretty, penniless girls before now. And I am pretty, they say. Other men admire me. Why not Norman de Vere, the man on whom I have set my heart?” She flung herself impetuously down upon her knees, and lifting wet eyes, like violets drowned in summer rain, prayed passionately: “Dear Heaven, only give me his love, I ask no other boon under the sun!” The next morning Thea was more careful with her toilet than she had ever been before. Jealousy of the handsome Miss Bentley had suddenly forced her to place herself on the defensive. She felt that she could not give up her hope without an effort to win him, although she sighed: