“Yes, I saw it too plainly; but, oh, I can not give him up! Oh, surely, he would not stoop to _her_--so far beneath him socially! Besides, she isn’t so pretty, either--only with a babyish kind of beauty.” “Not so pretty, Maybelle! Why, now you make a fatal mistake, underrating the girl’s charms. Half the fellows are raving over her style; and she could have a dozen proposals to-morrow, only she laughs them to scorn, the saucy little darling!” “You are very enthusiastic, Otho!” she cried, suspiciously. “Perhaps you are in love with her yourself. I wish you would marry her to-morrow, and make it impossible for her to become my rival.” He flushed, then laughed, answering, coolly: “Thank you; but the plan isn’t feasible. I shouldn’t mind making love to the pretty little thing, for she’s sweet enough to turn any man’s head; but I intend, like yourself, to marry money when I sacrifice myself on Hymen’s altar.” “Oh, brother, I am wretched, wretched! It isn’t alone for the money I want him. I have had other offers--rich ones, too; but I love _him_, love him, love him! I must win him or die! All in a minute I feel desperately wicked, and willing to do anything to win him for my own. I hate that girl already, and wish her dead! Why does she not go and kill herself like her mother?” “Probably she will in the end; but she isn’t unhappy enough yet.” “Then let us do something to drive her mad with despair at once!” cried Maybelle, feverishly, recklessly, her dark eyes flashing with a tigerish light not good to see. Otho’s eyes flashed back the same spirit, for his heart was burning with a cruel passion for bonny Floy. Stooping close to her ear, he whispered, hoarsely: “Suppose I could drive her mad with love for me?” “Try it, Otho, try it! Begin at once, please!” she responded, eagerly, hopefully. “I will, for I fancy she admires me immensely already by her blushes when I speak to her, and I’ll follow up the good impression at once, storm the castle of her fancy, as it were, with ardent love-making, persuade her to elope with me, perhaps--oh, a mock marriage, of course! She is poor, and so she could not be taken _au serieux_.” She listened without a protest to his diabolical scheme for wrecking the life of a pure and lovely girl. Oh, a jealous woman can be so hard and pitiless! He continued: “Of course you know she will be at the picnic we attend to-morrow?” “No! Who dared invite the creature?” imperiously. “Pshaw! Maybelle, that scorn was well acted before Beresford to-day; but in private we know that the girl really has some rights and a sort of footing in our set, so that we’re apt to meet her at less exclusive functions, such as this picnic will be. We can not keep from meeting her to-morrow, but we can forestall Beresford’s suit by plotting beforehand.” “Tell me how, Otho, and be sure I will act my part.”