diamonds than Mrs. Tredder's.
It is a fortunate marriage for him, for
people say his tastes are very expensive. You have seen Mrs.
Tredder, have you not, Pansy?"
"Yes ... we
saw her at his studio one Sunday," answers Pansy slowly, who was
deeply struck at the time by the widow's wonderful beauty, but had
not the slightest notion that Cyril Langdale was paying his homage
in that direction. "I think he would have told us," she says, with
a face that has lost its roses. "He never mentioned Mrs. Tredder
much. I believe you are making a mistake."
"Am I? Why,
they are always together in London, and she is ever so proud of his
genius. He is painting her for next year's Royal Academy. Why,
speak of an angel -- there they are, both of them, in Sir Patrick
Wynn's gondola! How lovely she looks, leaning back against the
crimson cushions! Isn't the gondolier handsome, Pansy -- an ideal
Venetian? I do wish we had a gondola."
"How hot it
is! The sun makes my head ache," says Pansy, moving away from her
friend and shading her eyes with her hand.
***
It is true that
the beautiful widow, with her diamonds and dividends, has been
successfully sought by the beauty-loving artist, and that he is
complacently conscious of victory where many another has met with
repulse. At the same time, his conscience is not wholly easy
concerning Pansy Adair, with whom he has undoubtedly flirted, and
whom he might have seriously fancied if he could be certain her
patroness would endow her with Silverbeach Manor and her wealth. He
glances at Mrs. Adair's houseboat, and is rather relieved to notice
the smiling nod with which Pansy responds to his salutation, and to
hear her laughter ring across to the gondola as she eats
strawberries and cream in the midst of a light-hearted throng.
"Permit
me to congratulate you, Mr. Langdale, and to wish you happiness,"
Pansy says, looking into his face when, later on, he brings
his fiancée on board the
houseboat.
Mrs. Tredder
dazzles all around by her perfect costume and bewitching face, and
is very friendly to Pansy and invites her to visit her in Hyde
Park. Langdale becomes quite at his ease, so successful a curtain
is Pansy's pride; but the girl feels today that her very heart is
broken.
For a time her
health and spirits suffer considerably from the shock of this first
sharp sorrow. She cannot accuse Cyril Langdale of desertion, for he
never belonged to her openly, and has always enjoyed the character
of being quite a "lady's man", but subtle looks and tones, only
known to the two of them, undoubtedly gave her reason to believe he
cared for her in sincerity. It takes her a long, long, bitter time
to realize that he is about to become the husband of one who, till
almost recently, was a stranger. She is realizing that even with
money to spend and spare, and amid lives that fare sumptuously
every day, trouble, and heart-sickness, and disappointment may not
be shut out.
"I will find
rest in music," she decides, struggling against the lethargy that
steals over her, and that no tonic seems to dispel. "I have read
that there is nothing like a hobby to banish sad thoughts and make
troubled hearts content. I will live for my violin. I will put
aside my poor, lost dream of love, and be satisfied with fame. Mrs.
Adair would never let me perform professionally, but I will be the
best-known amateur violinist in society. It must be sweet, it must
be glorious to be famous. I will work hard, I will strive hard to
be great."
***
Pansy did
indeed strive hard, and became as an honoured guest in the drawing
rooms of ladies of title. Mrs. Adair is filled with pride with the
eloquent praises (and silences even more complimentary) that follow
Pansy's performances, while the society papers bestow upon her such
glowing tributes as this:
Among the brilliant throng at Lady ----'s or the Duchess of
So-and-So's, might have been seen one of the queens of London
society -- Miss Adair, of Silverbeach Manor, the talented amateur
violinist. This