Stella Rosevelt : $b A novelSheldon, Georgie, Mrs.
General
Stella Rosevelt : $b A novel
Sheldon, Georgie, Mrs.
Dime novels; Love stories; Romance fiction
“Impossible!” he cried. “I never dreamed of such a thing. Why, then,
have I not seen you? Why were you not with the family when I arrived
last night? Why have I not seen you to-day?” he asked, as if more and
more astonished.
“Because,” she answered, her voice rising, with a scornful, bitter ring,
“I am a dependent upon the bounty of the rich; because I am a burden and
expense in a house of luxury, and only tolerated on account of a promise
made to my dying father and to cancel a debt due to my mother. You have
not seen me, because I am not allowed to breathe the same air, eat and
drink, and sit at the same table with those who think they are of finer
mold than I. But it is just as well, my lord——”
“My lord!” he repeated, in a startled tone, interrupting her. “Star,
that from _you_!”
She laughed bitterly, lifting her head with a haughty gesture, though
her face gleamed like a piece of marble in the waning light.
“Yes, that from me!” she said. “Fortunately, I was at a window above the
entrance when you arrived last evening, and witnessed the honors that
were heaped upon my _Lord Carrol, of Carrolton_, and the revelation of
your _true character_, although a sudden and bitter one to me, was,
perhaps, after all, a providential one; for, if it showed me how I had
been duped and betrayed, how I had been made the plaything of an idle
hour, it also gave me time to collect my scattered senses a trifle
before meeting you and telling you how I _scorn_ you for——”
“Duped! betrayed! plaything! Star, listen to me,” pleaded the young man,
his breath almost taken away by these startling accusations and by her
wild words, so full of derision and pain.
“I will _not_ listen to you!” she cried, passionately; “I have listened
to you too much already. Oh! why did you do this wicked thing? Why could
you not have left me alone? Had you not enough already, with your
riches, your title, and your life of pleasure, without coming in cruel
sport to spoil a poor young girl’s life? Was it not enough that you
could woo and win the heiress, the belle and beauty of Long Branch,
without the amusement of trying to win and break my poor heart?”
“Star! Star!” he cried, drawing nearer the excited girl. “What wild,
wild words! Every one is like a dagger plunged into _my_ heart. You do
not know what you are saying, dear. I try to win and break your heart!
My poor darling, you have been misled by having learned of my title. I
should have told you before, but——”
“Then you _are_ Lord Carrol? You own it—you acknowledge it?” Star
interrupted, with a ring of wild despair in her tones.
When she had looked up into his face, into his kind and loving eyes;
when she had heard his voice, so low and eager, yet tender; when he had
called her “his poor darling,” and said her words were like a dagger
plunged into his heart, her own had begun to thrill anew, and she almost
hoped against hope that there was after all some mistake, in spite of
what she had seen and heard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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