Chapter II: “which Is the More Lovely?”

A few words more of introduction are necessary in order to make the reader understand more thoroughly what the main characters of our story are like.

Arley Wentworth, like the Lady Elaine, was an orphan. Her father had been a gallant captain in her majesty’s army, her mother the daughter of a wealthy London physician.

Both had died in the far East, the captain from a bullet wound received with his face to the enemy, his gentle, idolizing wife from grief over her husband’s untimely and tragic death.

The little Arley, then not quite two years old, was thus left desolate, save for the native nurse who had had the care of her ever since her birth--and the officers of her father’s company, not knowing what else to do, sent her home to England to her grandfather. The nurse, who loved her little charge most fondly, and could not endure the thought of separation, was only too glad to be commissioned to take care of her.

But the poor, little waif nearly lost her life also, for the vessel was wrecked during the voyage, the nurse was drowned, and the child was picked up, more dead than alive, by a kind-hearted sailor, who saw her drifting helplessly about, and could not leave her to the mercy of the cruel waves, even though his own chances for being rescued were small.

When he, with the few others who were saved, were transferred from the sinking wreck to another homeward-bound steamer, a good woman took the poor child and cared for her with all the tenderness of a mother until she saw her safe in the care of her grandfather, Dr. Hugh McAllister, of London.

He was nearly heart-broken over the sad tidings brought to him with his grandchild, but as she grew and developed, she gradually came to take the place of his lost daughter, and he bestowed the greatest care upon her education and training.

She was a great comfort to him as long as he lived, and at his death he left her all his property, and confided her to the guardianship of his sister, a maiden lady a number of years younger than himself.

So she was quite an heiress in her own right, besides having expectations of more, since Miss McAllister was also quite wealthy.

She was vivacious and beautiful, as well as very intelligent, consequently she was much sought after and became the life of the company wherever she went.

Her name, Arley, was simply a contraction of Arletta, which everybody seemed to dislike to speak, and wondered that her parents should have chosen such a strange cognomen for her.

Her features were regular, with a sort of rounded symmetry that made one long to kiss the smooth, bright cheeks and the full, ripe lips. Her eyes were large, very dark, almost black, and exceedingly expressive. Her hair, of glossy nut-brown, was always arranged in some becoming style, and her smile, so bright and witching, made others smile in sympathy.

She was not so tall or symmetrical in figure as the Lady Elaine, but it was a pretty form, nevertheless, and always clad in the most jaunty and tasteful of costumes.

Annie Hamilton was a sweet, gentle girl, very quiet and somewhat retiring, with no pretensions to beauty, but with a latent something about her--a certain charm which made everybody love her.

She was two years younger than her brother, who was twenty-one, and whom she loved with almost idolatrous affection. She appeared rather mature for her years, but this was owing to her quiet demeanor, and to the fact, perhaps, that she had been brought up almost alone, there being no companions of her own age in the neighborhood.

Fred Vane, her betrothed, had, like Philip, been educated for the bar, but having a handsome fortune in prospect, and being the only child of his parents, he had, at their request, remained at home to assist in the management of their large estate.

He, like Annie, was very quiet in his tastes, and they were a couple of matter-of-fact lovers, who bade fair to enjoy a life full of peace and comfort.

When dinner was over and the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies, Lady Hamilton called her son to arrange for the next day’s amusement, and Philip, seizing the opportunity, sought Lady Elaine and engaged her in conversation.

He was an entertaining talker, and soon succeeded in fastening her attention wholly upon himself, and when at length Wil returned to the drawing-room he found that his friend had coaxed his “lady fair” out through one of the long windows, and there the handsome couple were pacing back and forth on the ivy-covered porch, which ran along the end of the drawing-room and the library, and were apparently oblivious to everything and everybody save themselves and the subject they were discussing.

A quick, hot flush mounted to the young man’s brow, and a pained, anxious look stole into his eyes, for he had surrendered himself entirely and with a devotion rarely equaled to his father’s young and beautiful ward, and he had begun to hope, from several little signs, that she was not indifferent to him.

“My peerless lily, I do not like this sudden monopoly at all,” he murmured, with unsteady lips. “I love you--how I love you! and unless I win you my whole life will be ruined.”

Fred Vane and his sister were sitting in a deep window having a cozy after-dinner chat, and had not even heeded his entrance. Sir Anthony was reading his newspaper, and Arley was nowhere visible.

Wil thought he would look her up, and stole softly out of the room, feeling very wretched, and with the first bitterness which he had ever experienced for his old chum rising in his heart.

He found Arley in the library writing a letter, and sitting just where she could see that distinguished-looking couple outside, pacing up and down in the shadow of the ivy vines.

Her eyes were unusually bright and her color considerably heightened, but she looked up with her own charming smile as Wil entered.

He begged pardon for intruding when he saw that she was writing, but she said:

“Come in, do; I am only just scribbling a little note to auntie. I am all through except writing the address; and then, if you are agreeable, we’ll take a stroll down to the lake; you know that is my favorite resort, for”--with a droll look--“I found myself decided _detrop_ in the drawing-room. Perhaps, however, the others will like to come with us, if they are not too deeply engaged,” she concluded, with a slight shrug of her pretty shoulders and an inclination of her bright head toward the porch.

Wil assented to her proposal, and, having waited for her to address and seal her letter, they sauntered out.

As they passed through the hall Arley caught up a filmy white scarf and twisted it carefully about her head, and the contrast with her bright complexion and her rich dress made the loveliest picture imaginable.

“Come, Annie,” she sang out, gayly, peeping in at the drawing-room door; “we are going down to the lake for a row.” Then, with a glance at her companion, she added: “Will you ask Mr. Paxton and Lady Elaine to come with us?”

Wil started and flushed hotly at the question, and she read his heart in an instant.

“He loves her, as I suspected, and he is afraid of losing her,” she thought.

She bent her head in reflection a moment, then lifting it with a haughty, resolute gesture, she said:

“I’ll ask them,” and darted away to suit the action to the word.

“I don’t care what Mr. Paxton thinks of me,” she murmured as she went; “he shall not spoil Wil’s life with his arts; he loves Lady Elaine, and he shall win her if I can help him to do it, for they were just made for each other.”

She stole softly up the steps of the porch, which at that end was beautifully arched above with massive carved pillars on each side.

Philip Paxton and his companion were pacing the other way, and their backs were toward her--they were not even conscious of the approach of any one.

“The Lily of Mordaunt is wanted,” she called out, gayly. “Come, Mr. Paxton--we are all going for a row on the lake, and if you have never seen that charming sheet of water, you do not know what a treat is in store for you.”

They turned at the sound of her voice, and Philip caught his breath as he looked down the length of the porch and saw the lovely vision standing in the arch; it was as if the young girl had been painted there by some master hand and then framed within that massive carving.

“Heavens! I never saw one so beautiful,” he thought; and the fairer beauty of the girl at his side seemed to pale before the bright vision before him.

Lady Elaine came forward at Arley’s call, as if glad to be released from her _tete-a-tete_.

“Please do not call me by that sentimental name, Arley,” she said, with a smile, but with a rising flush.

“Why not, dear? Wil gave you the name, and it just suits you,” she replied, linking her arms in hers and drawing her down the steps. “You always make me think of a lily whenever I look at you.”

“But you make me feel foolish, you bright Rose of Wentworth,” Lady Elaine returned, with an arch smile.

Arley’s laugh pealed out rich and clear.

“Now that is just delightful of you, my lady; nobody ever called me anything so pretty before. Do I make you think of a rose?”

“Indeed you do--the brightest rose that ever grew; isn’t it true, Mr. Paxton?” Lady Elaine inquired, appealing to him.

“Yes, indeed; it was a happy inspiration, and I think we must adopt it in the future,” he replied, with a look in his handsome eyes that made Arley’s heart beat quickly in spite of her previous irritation, and the little piece of treachery which she had been plotting to thwart his plans regarding the great heiress and her fortune.

When they came up with the others, Wil appeared thoughtful, and his usually frank eyes were clouded with a look of pain.

“We have found a new name for Miss Wentworth,” Philip said, pretending not to notice the change in his friend, although his conscience gave him a twinge; “we are going to call her the ‘Wentworth Rose.’ What do you think of it?”

“That it is very appropriate,” Wil tried to say with his usual hearty manner.

“Then henceforth we will fight for the Wentworth Rose; her champions we will be,” Philip said, gayly, and making a low obeisance before Arley.

“Thank you, Mr. Paxton; but I am afraid I shall be spoiled, for I have not been in the habit of having such pretty things said to me,” she returned, demurely, but with very mischievous eyes. “However,” she added, “if you take such rash vows upon yourself you must abide by the consequences; I shall require you to wear my colors.”

She plucked a crimson rose from a bush near which they were standing and held it out to him.

“A serious requirement, indeed,” he answered, smiling; “but I shall be most happy to accede to it, if your own fair fingers will place it where it ought to go,” and he touched the left lapel of his coat.

Arley began to look for a pin; then, as if suddenly remembering the object of their stroll she shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Wil, saying:

“I suppose I must comply with Mr. Paxton’s request; go on, Wil, and get the boat ready, and we will be there by the time you want to start.”

Wil Hamilton’s eyes lighted, for he understood the manœuvre of the bright girl, and stepping to Lady Elaine’s side, they all passed on, somewhat to Philip Paxton’s chagrin, for he had intended to monopolize the heiress of Mordaunt during the remainder of the evening.

But there was no help for it, since he had bound his own hands, so to speak, and he was obliged to stand there and allow Miss Wentworth to amuse herself at his expense. She appeared to be in no hurry either, and it took some time to settle that rose to suit her capricious fancy.

“I trust you have a generous supply of patience, Mr. Paxton,” she said, with provoking coolness, as, for the fourth time, she removed the refractory pin, to “try again.”

“There!” she added, “I think that will do this time; and now I’m afraid that we have kept the others waiting. But I always like to have everything just right,” she concluded, with a double meaning to her words, but looking so sweetly innocent that he never suspected how she had contrived to spoil his little game, although he inwardly rebelled against being separated from Lady Elaine.

When they arrived at the lake, they found the rest of the party seated in the boat, waiting for them.

Annie Hamilton was sitting in the prow, Wil and Lady Elaine in the next seat, looking as contented as possible with each other’s society, while Fred Vane was in the middle of the boat with an oar in each hand; thus the two seats at the stern were reserved for the two loiterers.

“I am going to row, Paxton, and you will oblige me if you will take the tiller,” Fred Vane said, and Philip, after assisting Arley to her seat, could only comply with his request.

But he did not have a very unsocial time of it, in spite of his disappointment, for the “Wentworth Rose” was in the best of spirits, for some reason, and kept his attention so perfectly occupied with her mirth and chatter, that he almost forgot that he had been balked in any of his designs, while Wil was as grateful to the quick-witted girl as ever a forlorn lover could be.