Zaidee Preston was the most demure little flirt in existence, every one conceded that, and although not dazzlingly beautiful, like Lelia, she had a charm of her own petite plumpness, curly brown hair, and sweet blue eyes that won her many admirers. Full of mischief and harmless coquetry, she soon divined Lelia’s weakness, and played upon it just for amusement, arousing the proud beauty’s secret bitter resentment. Little Zaidee frankly preferred Roy Van Vleck to any of the other young men, but she managed to inveigle Laurie into some very nice chats, and got him for her cavalier on more than one occasion. “You will never get invited to The Crags again,” the other girls said to her warningly; but she laughed roguishly, replying: “I suspected that, and so I am making the most of my chance now. I am only just worrying her for fun, to teach her a lesson. Who wants her stupid Laurie, with his big, grave eyes and quiet ways, as if, after all, he wasn’t quite happy, even if he has won such a dashing beauty? I like that jolly Roy Van Vleck a hundred times better!” Even as Gipsy’s yearning eyes followed the party, the kind nurse remarked: “Lucinda says that Miss Ritchie is as jealous as a Turk over her handsome lover, and won’t hardly let him speak to another girl. She jest hates that little Zaidee because she tries to flirt with him.” “You see, Miss Ritchie loves him very much. They have belonged to each other all their lives, and it would break her heart to lose him,” Gipsy answered gently, with a dull pain at her heart she could not understand. She did not realize that she was putting herself in Lelia’s place, and reading her heart by the light of her own. She shut her heavy eyes and leaned her head back on the pillow wearily, heavily, as in a half-dream, Mrs. Goodwill wandering on loquaciously: “I hate these jealous natures myself; a body might jest as well marry a firebrand. My sister-in-law, Della, was a jealous woman, though John never give her no cause at all; he dreaded her temper so that he daren’t even look at a woman, even if she was as old as the hills. But she killed him at last--yes, shot him for a foolish fancy that hadn’t no foundation. They sent her off to the loonytic ’sylum--said she was crazy, but she warn’t no more crazy nor I was, and she ought to been hung, the she-devil! If I was Mr. Willoughby, I’d look twice before I would marry a jealous woman, if she was pretty as a pink and rich as the queen of Sheba. As I said jest now, as well marry a firebrand and done with it! I can’t never get over losing my poor brother so dreadful. But, laws! how my long tongue do rattle on, and you with your eyes shet, trying to sleep. But raise up now, here comes Lucinda with a nice bowl of chicking broth!” CHAPTER XII. “HERE IS YOUR RING.” Pretty little Zaidee would never have carried her coquetry so far if she had dreamed what would come of it that day.