Ida wended her way over the flower-strewn meadow, with her heart beating more wildly than it had ever beaten before. She could not forget the flower-like little infant that had looked up into her face, and which had so strangely affected her.

Even the guests noted her heightened color; and Vivian Deane, watching her narrowly from across the table, wondered what brought the brightness to her eyes.

She looked at Eugene Mallard with intense interest. Surely there was no corresponding gladness in his eyes. Indeed, he looked unusually careworn.

"I will soon find out what has happened," said Vivian, with a pang of bitter jealousy.

A little later Vivian sought Ida in her boudoir.

"It has commenced to rain," she said, "and I am at a loss to know what to do with myself. The Staples girls have gone to their rooms to rest, and their mother wearies me talking about Christian charity. The gentlemen have repaired to the smoking-room, and so I have sought you."

[155]

"You are very welcome," said Ida. "I will do my best to amuse you."

As she looked at Vivian, she said to herself:

"How foolish I have been to imagine that this brilliant, beautiful girl should care for a man who belonged to another girl."

Vivian had a very fascinating way when among women, and now she exerted herself to please Eugene Mallard's young wife as she had never exerted herself to please any one before.

"What a very cozy boudoir you have, Ida!" she said. "It is like a casket for some precious jewel. How considerate your husband was to have it furnished to suit your rich dark beauty. I used to think that nothing was pretty except white and gold or blue and white."

"That is only natural," returned Ida. "You are a pronounced blonde, you know."

"Then you do not agree with me that there is a possibility of blondes liking rich dark surroundings?"

"No; I should not fancy so," returned Ida, "except that blondes usually fall in love with dark men."

Vivian flushed a vivid scarlet, which Ida did not see, for at that moment Vivian's face was turned from her.

"Yes, that is very true," returned Vivian, making an effort to control her emotion.

In her case, Vivian knew that the old saying was at fault. The strong, passionate love of her heart had gone out to Eugene Mallard, and he was fair. He was her ideal of manly beauty. The faces of other men appeared quite insignificant when compared to his. She was anxious to turn the conversation into another channel.

"I have often thought, amid all this gayety, how lonely you must be at times without some girl friend to talk matters over with you," said Vivian.

"You are quite right," said Ida, eagerly. "I do need a girl friend, some one of my own age, to whom I could open my heart."

Vivian glided up to her and threw her arms about her neck.

[156]

"Let me be that friend," she whispered, eagerly.

The young wife looked at her wistfully; her cheeks flushed.

"I shall be only too glad, Vivian," Ida said.

"If she had heard that I was in love with her husband, I must first throw her off the track," thought Vivian.

"I am going to tell you a secret," she murmured, aloud; "but you must not reveal it to any one, I have had a strange love affair, Ida."

She felt the young wife start, her figure tremble; she saw the lovely face grow pale. But not appearing to notice her agitation, she went on:

"My hero is as dark as a Spanish knight. I met him recently. It was a case of love at first sight. He proposed to me within a fortnight. But my relatives do not like him, wealthy, handsome, courteous though he is. They have forbidden him the house, yet I think in time they will overcome their objections."

She could plainly see how her fictitious story relieved the young wife. The color came back to Ida's cheeks, the light to her eyes. She threw her arms impulsively about Vivian, and kissed her fair, lovely, treacherous face.

"You are indeed to be envied, Vivian," she said, earnestly. "To love and be loved is the greatest happiness God can give any one. I hope, for your sake, that your lover may win his way to the hearts of your relatives. But you know that the course of true love never did run smoothly."

"My lover is a great friend of your husband's, and perhaps he has told you about it?"

"No," said Ida. "I assure you that Mr. Mallard has not spoken to me on the subject," and she looked ............