“I don’t know a thing about him, except that he’s clever and handsome, and seems to have plenty of money; but I like him immensely, so I brought him here with me, and if you’re not pleased you can just ship us both when you get tired,” Royall said coolly to his cousin, who answered gayly: “I’ll never get tired, I assure you; the dear boy is too charming.” That was ten days ago, and as time went by she found him more charming than ever, though there was about him a careless insouciance, a cynical indifference to her wiles, that piqued her into deeper earnestness, so that by the end of the first week she was passionately in love, and using every feminine art to bring him to her feet. And, never having loved before, despite several pronounced flirtations, she was desperately in earnest. At only twenty-five, she was the widow of an old man whom she had married for his money when she was only nineteen years old. Three years later he obligingly died, and left her the mistress of half a million, which she was enjoying in royal fashion. A selfish, careless little beauty, she had never felt the great passion of life till she met Dallas Bain, whose large, dark, flashing eyes had pierced her heart in a moment with love’s keen arrow. She set herself to win him without a thought of defeat, for she was very pretty in a doll-like fashion, petite, with turquoise-blue eyes, and crinkly flaxen hair always in the most picturesque disorder. Not a fear of rivalry crossed her mind, for although she had several young girls as guests, she had been careful to invite only those who were plain-looking enough to serve as a foil to her own beauty. To Daisie Bell she had never given a thought till this moment, when, on their drive, the coachman had turned into Temple Street just to vary the route, and her visitors had seen the young girl in her wondrous beauty, that, once seen, could never be forgotten. What a careless encounter it seemed, yet one fraught with fate! “Couldn’t you both see that the bold thing was just posing for your benefit?” she exclaimed, in jealous alarm; and Royall had answered as above recorded, winking significantly at his friend; but Dallas said not a word, but gazed, with his heart in his eyes, at the beauty till she was out of sight. Then he drew a long breath that was mingled delight and pain, and cried eagerly: “But who is she, Mrs. Fleming?” “Yes, who is she, and why haven’t we met her at your receptions, Lutie?” added Royall. Tossing her head and curling a scornful lip, the lady returned maliciously: “Oh, she isn’t in our set at all--only a poor relation of some people here; a teacher, or shop girl from New York, who comes here every summer to visit her kin and rest from work. And they’re all poor, as you can see from the back street and the five-roomed cottage.” She thought that this explanation ought to settle the subject forever; but Royall persisted: “Lutie, why don’t you tell us her name?”