My Pretty Maid; or, Liane Lester

The man she had remorselessly hurled from the cliff to a watery grave belonged to an episode of Roma's boarding-school days, that she hoped was forever hidden from the knowledge of the world. The thought of exposure and betrayal was intolerable. It was a moment when she dare not hesitate. Desperation made her reckless, branded her soul with crime.

The strongest love of her life had been given to Jesse Devereaux. Woe be to any one who came between her and that selfish love! Woe be to Devereaux himself when he scorned that love! Turbulent passion, that brooked no obstacle, burned fiercely in Roma's breast. Proud, vain, self-indulgent, she would brook no opposition in anything.

Out of all the five hundred girls whose portraits had been accepted for the Beauty Show, there was not one more eager than Roma to win the prize—not for the money, but for the additional prestige it would add to her belleship.

Her handsomest portrait had been offered, and Roma had scrutinized it most anxiously, hour by hour, searching for the slightest flaw.

She had a wealth of rich coloring in eyes, hair, and complexion, but her features were not quite regular; her nose was a trifle too large, her mouth too wide. Aware of these defects, she would have been a little uneasy, only that she counted on the votes of her father and Devereaux as most certain. Besides, she considered that her brilliant social position must prove a trump card.

"The palm will surely be mine, both by reason of beauty and belleship," she thought triumphantly, sneering, as she added: "The town will surely choose one of its own maidens for the honor, and who would think of awarding the prize to any one here except myself? True, they say that all of Miss Bray's pretty sewing girls have had their pictures accepted, and it's true that some of them are rather pretty, especially that Liane Lester, but who would think of giving a vote to a common sewing girl? I don't fear any of them, I'm sure! But, how I should hate any girl that took the prize from me!" she concluded, with a gleam of deadly jealousy in her great, flashing eyes, that could burn like live coals in their peculiar, reddish-brown shade.

But an element of uncertainty was added to the situation, now, in the defection of Jesse Devereaux.

"What if, in his passionate resentment against me, he should cast his vote for another?" she thought, in dismay so great that she determined to humble herself to the dust if she could but win him back.

She sent him flowers every day, and, accompanying them, love letters, in which she poured out her grief and repentance; but, alas, all her efforts fell on stony ground.

The recreant knight, busy with his new love dream, scarcely wasted a thought on Roma. He replied to her letters, thanking her for the flowers and her kindly sentiments, assuring her that he bore no malice, and forgave her for her folly; but he added unequivocally that his fancy for her was dead, and could never be resurrected.

"His fancy! He can call it a fancy now!" the girl moaned bitterly, and in that moment she tasted, for the first time, the bitterness of a cruel defeat, where she had been so confident of success.

She could not realize that he loved her no more, that the fancy she had so carefully cultivated was dead so soon! The pain and humiliation were most bitter. She rued in dust and ashes her hasty severance of her engagement.

Added to the bitterness of losing his love was the pain of having him vote against her at the Beauty Show.

"He will be sure to do so out of pure spite, even if he thought me the most beautiful of all!" she thought bitterly. "Oh, I wonder for whom he will cast his vote! How I should hate her if I knew! I—I could trample her pretty face beneath my feet!"

In desperation she resolved to cultivate the acquaintance of the artist, Malcolm Dean. He was to be one of the judges, she knew. Perhaps she could win him over to her side.

Gradually she took heart of hope again.

It could not be possible Jesse's heart had turned against her so suddenly. No, no! When they met again she would be able to draw him back again.

She had heard that he was going to be present at the Beauty Show. She would wear her new rubies and her most becoming gown for his eyes.

There were other girls than Roma planning to look their prettiest that night, and one was Liane Lester.

Her girl friends had persuaded her to send in her picture with theirs, and all six had been photographed in a large group by the Stonecliff artist.

No one could gainsay the fact that it was a beautiful group, from the petite, flaxen-haired Dolly, to the tall, stately brunette, Mary Lang. Miss Bray was quite proud of them, and wished she had not been too old and homely to compete for the prize.

"How sweet they look in their plain white gowns—as pretty as any millionaire's daughters!" she said proudly. "Indeed, I don't see why one of them can't take the prize? What if they are just poor sewing girls? Almost any of them is as pretty as Miss Clarke, with her fame as a beauty! But her pa's money helped her to that! Look at Liane Lester, now; that girl's pretty enough for a princess, and if she had fine fixings, like Roma Clarke, she could outshine her as the sun outshines the stars! But, of course, I wouldn't have Liane know I said it, because a poor girl must never cultivate vanity," she concluded to her crony, Widow Smith, who agreed to everything she said.

Liane had been almost frightened at first when the girls insisted on her going to the Beauty Show to see the exhibition of photographs, and hear the prize awarded.

"For if you should be chosen, you must be there to receive the prize," cried Dolly.

"I could never dream of being chosen," the girl cried, with a blush that made her lovelier than ever.

"You must come! Tell granny you have thrown off her yoke now, and intend to have a little fun, like other young girls. If she rebels, tell her you will leave her and live with me!" encouraged Mary Lang.

"You mustn't miss it for all the world!" cried Lottie Day vivaciously. "Did you know that the ladies of the Methodist church intend to have a supper in the town hall, also, that night?"

Little by little they tempted Liane to rebel against granny's arbitrary will and accompany them.

"But I have nothing to wear!" she sighed.

"Oh, a cheap, white muslin will do! It will look real sweet by gaslight, with a ribbon round your waist," suggested Miss Bray herself, and then Liane's heart gave a thump of joy. She told them about the five dollars Mrs. Clarke had given her for the work on Roma's cape, and how she had kept all knowledge of it from granny, longing to enjoy the money herself.

"You were quite right, since she takes every penny of your wages!" they all agreed, while Miss Bray added kindly:

"You can get a sweet pattern of white muslin and a ribbon for your waist and neck, with five dollars. I will cut and fit your gown for nothing."

"And we girls will take parts of it home at night and help you make it!" cried her young friends.

"Oh, how good you all are to me! I hope I may be able to return your favors some day," cried the girl, grateful tears crowding into her beautiful eyes.

And just then came the note from Roma Clarke, offering Liane a situation as her maid.

The girl shared the note with her friends, and they were unanimously indignant.

"The idea of thinking that any of us would stoop to be a maid!" they cried, while Liane, with flushing cheeks, quickly indited a brief, courteous, but very decided refusal of the young lady's offer.

CHAPTER XII.

"THE QUEEN ROSE."

"What impudence! She thanks me for my offer, but finds it quite impossible to accept. And her note is worded as if written to an equal!" cried Roma angrily, as she tossed Liane's answer to her mother.

Mrs. Clarke examined it somewhat curiously, commenting on the neatness and correctness of the writing.

"She has made good use of her limited opportunities for education," she said.

"But, mamma, the idea of her refusing my offer, to remain with Miss Bray at three dollars a week."

"Perhaps there is a little pride mixed up with her position. She may consider her present place more genteel, my dear."

"I really do not see any difference to speak of. Poor people are all alike to me," Roma cried scornfully. "As for Liane Lester, I should like to shake her! I suppose her pretty face has quite turned her head with vanity! Why, mamma, she and those other sewing girls at Miss Bray's have even sent their pictures to the Beauty Show."

"The competition was free to all, my dear, and poverty is no bar to beauty. I have seen some of the prettiest faces in the world among working girls. But still, I do not suppose any of Miss Bray's employees can compete with you in looks," returned Mrs. Clarke, with a complacent glance at her handsome daughter.

"Thank you, mamma, but you haven't seen this Lester girl, have you? She is really quite out of the ordinary, with the most classic features, while I—well, I confess my features are the weak point in my beauty. I don't see why I didn't inherit your regular features!" complained Roma.

"You do not resemble me, but you are not lacking in beauty, dear. I suppose you must be more like your father's family, though I never saw any of them. But don't begin to worry, darling, lest you should lose the prize. I feel sure of your success," soothed the gentle lady.

"But, mamma, there is Jesse, who will be sure to vote against me for spite, and I'm afraid that papa is the only one of the judges I can count upon."

"You cannot count upon him, Roma, because he has declined to serve, fearing to be accused of partiality if he votes for you."

"Then I shall have to go entirely on my own merits," Roma returned, with pretended carelessness, but at heart she was furious at her father's defection, only she knew it was useless to protest against his decision. She had learned long ago that she could not "wind him around her little finger," as she could her adoring mother.

Again her hopes recurred to Jesse Devereaux. She must make every effort to lure him back.

Her mother's patient maid grew very tired dressing Miss Roma for the show when the night came.

"She was as fussy and particular as some old maid! I did up her hair three times in succession before it suited! My! But she was cross as a wet hen! I believe she would have slapped me in the face if she had dared! I hope to goodness she may fail to get the prize, though I wouldn't have dear Mrs. Clarke hear me say so for anything in the world! But I'm just hoping and praying that some poor girl that needs the money may get that hundred dollars!" exclaimed the maid to her confidante, the housekeeper.

There was not one among the servants but disliked the arrogant heiress, who treated them as if they were no more than the dust beneath her dainty feet. They whispered among themselves that it was strange that such a sweet, kind lady as Mrs. Clarke should have such a proud, hateful daughter.

While Roma was arraying herself in the finest of silk and lace, set off by the coveted new rubies, Liane Lester was making her simple toilet at the home of Mary Lang, with whom she had promised to attend the show.

Granny had most grudgingly given her consent to Liane's spending the night with Mary, since she dared not offer any violent opposition. Since Liane had threatened open rebellion to her tyranny, the old woman was somewhat cowed.

Liane put up her beautiful, curling tresses into the simplest of knots, but she did not need an elaborate coiffure for the chestnut glory of rippling, sun-flecked locks. It was a crown of beauty in itself.

She put on the crisp, white gown she had bought with Mrs. Clarke's gift, and Mary helped to tie the soft ribbons at her waist and neck.

"Oh, you lovely thing! You look sweet enough to eat!" she cried. "Now, then, put on the roses your mysterious admirer sent you to wear, and we will be off."

Liane blushed divinely as she fastened at her waist a great bunch of heavy-headed pink roses, that had been sent to Miss Bray's late that afternoon, with an anonymous card that simply read:

Fair Queen Rose: Please wear these sister flowers at the Beauty Show to-night.

No name was signed, but the merry girls all declared that Liane had caught a beau at last, and that he would be sure to declare himself to-night. They persuaded her to wear the roses, though she was frightened at the very idea.

"Suppose some great, ugly ogre comes up to claim me!" she exclaimed apprehensively, as she pinned them on and set off, all in a flutter of excitement, for the town hall, clinging to Mary's arm, for she was quite nervous over the prospect of the evening's pleasure.

Now, as she passed along the lighted streets to the festive scene, and saw others, also gayly bedecked, hurrying to the same destination, she felt a thrill of pleasant participation quite new and exhilarating.

"Just see what I have missed all my life, through granny's hardness!" she murmured plaintively to Mary, who squeezed her arm lovingly, and answered:

"Poor dear!"

The hall was already crowded with people, and the supper of the Methodist ladies was busily in progress when they entered the place that was gayly decorated with flowers and bunting, framing the pictures that lined the walls.

"Let us walk around and look at the beauties," Mary said, and, following the example of the other visitors, they mingled with the crowd and feasted their eyes on the five hundred pretty faces that were deemed worthy to compete for the prize.

They soon found out that Miss Clarke's portrait and the group of six sewing girls claimed more attention than any others.

But there were many eyes that turned from the pictured to the living beauty, and whispers went round that drew many eyes to Liane, wondering at her marvelous grace.

Liane had never appeared at a public function in the town before, and many of the people thought she was a stranger. Curious whispers ran from lip to lip:

"Who is the lovely girl with the pink roses?"

Roma, in her rich gown and sparkling rubies, heard the question, and bit her lips till the blood almost started.

"It is only one of the dressmaker's sewing girls!" she said haughtily, and started across the room to her mother, who had paused to speak to Jesse Devereaux.

He had just entered, looking pale and superbly handsome; but with his right arm in a sling, and the lady, for Roma's sake, resolved to forget her resentment and try to propitiate him.

"I am afraid I was too hasty that morning," she said gently. "Will you forgive me and be friends again, Jesse?"

"Gladly," he replied, for he valued her good opinion, little as he cared for her proud, overbearing daughter.

The next moment Roma, coming up to them, heard her mother exclaim, to her infinite chagrin:

"Tell me, Jesse, who is that perfectly lovely girl in the white gown with the pink roses at her waist?"

Jesse looked quickly, and saw Liane again for the first time since that eventful evening on the beach, when he had saved her from insult and injury. His heart gave a strangling throb of joy and love, mingled with pride in her peerless loveliness.

"You are right. She is peerless," he answered, in a deep voice, freighted with emotion. "Her name is Liane Lester."

"Impossible!" almost shrieked the lady in her surprise; but at that moment Roma confronted them, her proud face pale, her eyes gleaming, murmuring:

"Oh, Jesse, how glad I am to see you out again! No wonder you were cross with me, suffering as you were with your poor arm. But I forgive you all."

"I thank you," he replied courteously, and Roma took her station at his side quite as if she had the old right.

He was vexed, for he was anxious to cross over to Liane and ask her to have an ice with him. Then he would keep at her side all the rest of the evening. He would see her home, too, and before they parted he would tell her all his love, and ask for her hand.

With these ecstatic anticipations in his mind, it was cruel torture to be kept away from her against his will by the two ladies, and, worst of all, with an air as if they had a right to monopolize him all the evening.

In desperation he asked them to take an ice with him, vowing to himself he would escape directly afterward.

But Roma was thirsty that evening, it seemed. She took two ices, and trifled over them, her mother waiting patiently, while Jesse, outwardly cool and courteous, inwardly cursed his untoward fate, for he saw other men seeking introductions to Liane, and loading her with attentions, carried away by the charm of her beauty.

Still he could not shake off Roma without absolute rudeness, for she clung to his arm persistently, though it was near the hour for the announcement of the award of the evening, and yet he had not spoken one word to fair Liane, the queen of his heart.

Suddenly Malcolm Dean ascended the rostrum, and the gay, laughing groups about the hall became intensely still, waiting for his verdict.

"I am no orator," he smiled. "So I will briefly announce, as a member of the committee of the beauty contest, that we examined the pictures in detail to-day, and unanimously award the prize for most perfect beauty to Miss Liane Lester!"

A breathless hush had fallen on the crowd as Malcolm Dean's voice was heard speaking, and every ear was strained, not to lose a word—for many a fair young girl was listening in feverish excitement, hoping to hear her own name.

Roma's heart gave a wild leap, her eyes flashed, her cheeks paled, and she half rose from her seat in uncontrollable excitement.

But the suspense of the aspirants for the prize lasted but a moment, for Malcolm Dean purposely made his announcement audible to every one in the hall:

"Miss Liane Lester!"

The name ran from lip to lip in excited tones, while many a young heart sank with disappointment, so many had hoped to be chosen queen of beauty, caring more for the honor even than the money.

Then the voices swelled into plaudits, and Liane, shrinking with bashful joy, heard her name shouted from eager lips:

"Miss Lester! Miss Lester!"

Roma had uttered a stifling gasp of disappointment, and sank heavily back into her seat.

"She is the most beautiful girl I ever saw!" cried Jesse impulsively. It was cruel to tell Roma this, and he realized it, but his heart was on his lips. He could not check it, though he saw the deadly fire of hate leap into her flashing eyes.

Mrs. Clarke touched her daughter's arm caressingly, saying:

"Do not feel so badly over it, Roma, darling. No doubt the committee were governed somewhat by partiality, thinking that the prize ought to be given some poor girl who needed the money."

Jesse felt the delicate thrust, and answered quickly:

"You were struck with her beauty yourself, Mrs. Clarke!"

"Yes, she is a very pretty girl," she replied, rather carelessly, then paused, as Malcolm Dean lifted his hand for silence, and said in the hush that followed:

"Will Miss Lester please come forward and receive the prize?"

A wild impulse came to Devereaux to escort Liane forward. How proud he would be to take that little fluttering hand and lead her to the rostrum to receive the award! He knew that every eye would be on them, that it would be a virtual declaration of his sentiments toward her, but he gloried in the thought. He rose quickly, exclaiming:

"Excuse me, please!"

But Mrs. Clarke's voice, cold and grating, fell on his ear:

"Please escort Roma to the open air—to the carriage! Do you not see that she is almost fainting?"

Roma was indeed drooping heavily against her mother, in pretended weakness. Her ruse had its effect. Jesse had to offer his arm and lead her from the room, followed by her mother. After some little delay their carriage was found, and, while placing them in it, Mrs. Clarke said coolly:

"Now if you will find my husband and send him to us, you will add greatly to the obligation you have placed us under."

He bowed silently and hurried away, meeting Mr. Clarke, fortunately, coming out. A hasty explanation, and they parted, Devereaux returning to the room, wild to speak to Liane after all this baffling delay.

But the prize had been presented, and Liane was surrounded by an obsequious crowd, offering eager congratulations.

By her side stood the handsome young artist, Malcolm Dean, gazing with rapt admiration on her shy, blushing face, and then Devereaux remembered that the artist had said, while they were deciding on the pictures that afternoon, that this was surely the fairest face in the whole world, and he should not rest until he knew the original.

"If the counterfeit presentiment can be so charming, how much more lovely, the original!" he exclaimed.

And now by his looks Devereaux saw that his anticipations were more than realized. The ethereal charm of Liane's beauty held him as by a spell.

It seemed to Liane as if she had fallen asleep and waked in a brighter world.

But an hour ago she had been poor little Liane Lester, the humble sewing girl, who had spent her little fortune, five dollars, the largest sum she had ever possessed at once in her life, on this simple white gown for the festal occasion. Now she stood there, the centre of admiring congratulations, receiving introductions and alternately bowing and smiling like some great beauty and heiress.

She felt like an heiress, indeed, with that crisp new hundred-dollar bill tucked into her belt, and her cheeks glowed with shy pride and joy, for she had dared to indulge some trembling daydreams over gaining the prize, and now she hoped they might be realized.

There were sad hearts there, too, for many a vain little maiden was disappointed, among them Dolly Dorr, who stifled her chagrin, however, and kissed Liane very sweetly, saying:

"Don't forget that I persuaded you to compete for the prize, although I was afraid all the time you would carry it off from us all."

Every one laughed at Dolly's naïve speech. She was such a frank, pretty little thing, and, next to Liane, the prettiest girl in Miss Bray's employ.

But among all the disappointed ones, no one had been so vexed as to leave the scene like Roma, and it was soon whispered through the room that she had scolded her lover for giving his vote to Liane instead of herself.

"I heard them quarreling; I was just behind Mrs. Clarke," said the lady who had started the report, and she added that Roma had been taken almost fainting to her carriage, unwilling to remain and witness her rival's triumph.

There were many who rejoiced over Roma's defeat, and others who wondered at Devereaux's disloyalty.

He should have paid her the compliment of his vote, since it could have made no difference in the result, they said.

But Devereaux, returning to the hall, eager to speak to Liane, and indifferent to comments on his actions, was forced to stand on the verge of the crowd waiting his turn, till Dolly Dorr, espying him, hastened to his side.

She said to herself that here was one prize, at least, that Liane had not won yet, and she would lose no time trying to make good a claim.

"If he has quarreled with Miss Clarke, so much the better. Hearts are often caught in the rebound," she thought eagerly, as she engaged his attention with some bantering words.

Devereaux smiled kindly on the sunny-haired little maiden, but she found it impossible to engross his attention.

She soon saw that his whole mind was fixed on Liane, and he could not keep from watching her face, until Dolly said quite crossly:

"You are like all the rest! You cannot keep your eyes from off Liane Lester, now that she has taken the beauty prize!"

Devereaux answered dreamily:

"I could look at her forever!"

His brilliant, dark eyes glowed and softened with tenderness, and a passionate flush reddened his smooth olive cheek.

Dolly stared, and said sharply:

"Perhaps Miss Clarke wouldn't like that so well!"

"What has she to do with my looking at Miss Lester?" he cried impatiently.

"But aren't you engaged to Miss Clarke?"

"No, I am not!"

"But everybody says so!"

"Everybody is mistaken."

Dolly's eyes beamed with joy as she cried gayly:

"Then you are free, Mr. Devereaux?"

He answered with a happy laugh:

"Free as the wind—free to look at Miss Lester as much as I choose—or as long as she will allow me."