My Pretty Maid; or, Liane Lester

Bostin,

Mass.

His cheek flushed, and he sighed.

"Poor girl, of course she has had no opportunities of education, but she can have private teachers, and soon remedy all that."

And he opened the letter with the eagerness of a lover, despite the slight damper on his spirits, caused by his love's bad chirography, united to even worse orthography.

His eager eyes traveled quickly over the small sheet with the awkward sentences of one little used to epistolary work.

    Stonecliff, the 17 Sept.

Deer Mister Devrow: Deer me, what a s'hpise your letter wuz! I thought you wuz jest flirtin' with me! I had heerd what a flirt you wuz, so I jest tryed my hand on you! They told me you wuz ingage to the beautiful Miss Clarke, and I thought what fun to cut her out!

But I didn't think I could do it. I didn' know as I was so pretty till I tuk the beauty prize that nite. Deer me, how glad I wuz of that money! I'm a grate heiress now, like Miss Clarke, ain't I?

I'm much obleedge fur your offer to marry, but I can't see my way clear to accept, being as I don't love you well enuff. I never did admire these dark men with sassy, black eyes and dark hair. I've heern tell they are as jealous as a turk. I make bold to say, I think Mr. Deen is the style I most admire—deep blue eyes and brown curls. He seems to have took a fancy to me, too, and if he should ast me the question you did, I know I could say yes. Forgive if this pains, but it's best to be frank, so you won't go on loving me in vane.

I'm grateful to you for your vote that helped to git me that hundred dollars! I'm goin' down to Bostin to see the sites, and buy me a red silk gown, I always wuz crazy for one!

    Truly yours,
    Liane Lester.

Devereaux sat like one dazed, going over and over the letter of rejection. He could hardly realize that Liane's little hand had penned those words.

No more cruel blow at a strong man's love and pride had ever been dealt than that letter, showing the writer to be possessed of so shallow a nature as to be incapable of appreciating the treasure of a true heart's love, so ungratefully thrown away.

Jesse Devereaux thrust it away from him at last, and sat staring blankly before him with heavy eyes, like one contemplating the ruins of his dearest hope.

It seemed to him as if he had just laid some dearly loved one in the grave. Hours and days of sorrow seemed to pass over him as he sat there brooding darkly over his fate.

Was it indeed but an hour ago he had felt so hopeful and glad, telling himself he had just found the sweetest joy of life in the dawn of love?

What foolish thoughts, what a misplaced love, what rash confidence in an innocent face and demure, pansy-blue eyes!

She had just been flirting with him because she heard he was a great flirt, and was engaged to Miss Clarke, and she wanted to see if she could "cut her out." It was all heartless vanity that he had taken for shy, bashful love. The ignorant little working girl had proved herself an adept in the art of flirtation.

It was a crushing blow, and his heart was very sore. He had loved her so, ever since the night they had first met, loved her with the passion of his life! Even now the memory of her sweetness would not down. He would be haunted forever by her voice, her glance, her smile, so alluring in their beauty, so false in true womanly worth and grace, will-o'-the-wisp lights, shining but to betray.

And Malcolm Dean was his rival in the heart of the lovely, coquettish working girl! She admired his "deep-blue eyes and brown curls" as much as she disliked "sassy black eyes and dark hair." She would marry him if he asked her, she said. Jesse wondered cynically if Dean had been merely flirting, too, or would his love prompt him to elevate pretty Liane to the proud position of his bride.

Meanwhile, Liane, innocent as an angel, of course, of the letter that Roma had sent in her name, had duly arrived in the city.

Her grandmother had taken her to cheap lodgings that night, and, after they had been shown to a room, the old woman said abruptly:

"Now I'll go and inquire about my daughter."

Liane went to the window and looked out in awe at the lights of the great city, wondering how far away from this spot Jesse Devereaux could be to-night. Her young heart throbbed with joy at the thought of his nearness, for she had no realization of the extent of Boston.

While she was musing and wondering granny returned, saying crossly:

"It seems I made a mistake in the address. She ain't here at all, but I'm tired, and not a step shall I stir from this to-night, so we'll go to bed, Liane, and I'll hunt her in the morning."

"But if she should die before morning, granny?"

"Let her die, then; I can't help it! Go to bed!" snarled the old woman, creeping into bed; so Liane, seeing the uselessness of remonstrance, followed her example.

The next morning, after breakfast, granny announced that she would leave Liane in care of the landlady, while she went out in search of the dying daughter.

"Let me go with you," pleaded the girl, with a vague hope of meeting Devereaux somewhere on the street, all her thought clinging to him with tender persistence.

"No, I won't have you along with me, but I'll come back for you as soon as I find her," snapped granny, so sharply that Liane gave in and watched her depart with keen regret.

"I should have liked to go with her to see some of the sights of the great city," she sighed, so forlornly that the landlady said cheerily:

"Well, come in here and sit a while with my sick sister, and I'll hurry up my morning's work and go out with you myself this afternoon."

Lizzie White was a pretty shop girl, just recovering from a spell of fever, and she took an instant interest in the pretty new boarder.

"Sister Annie can show you all over the city," she said. "But," hesitatingly, "haven't you any other clothes to wear?" her glance falling deprecatingly on Liane's simple dark-blue print gown and summer straw hat. "It's time for fall things, you know," she added.

Liane blushed at the poverty of her attire, but answered gently:

"These are the best clothes I have, but I have a little money of my own, and if I knew where to go, I would buy a blue serge suit."

"Sister Annie can take you to a place this afternoon—the very store where I work when I am well," replied Lizzie encouragingly.

Afternoon came, but no granny yet, and Mrs. Brinkley offered to take Liane out, saying it was such a pity to stay indoors all day when the sun shone so bright and warm.

Liane accepted eagerly, and then her new friend, Lizzie, shyly proffered her a new fall suit of her own to wear.

"Do wear it to please me, and because people will make remarks on your print gown," she said eagerly, and the girl, fearful that Mrs. Brinkley might be ashamed of her shabby attire, accepted gratefully.

Her appearance was indeed quite different when clothed in Lizzie's brown cloth skirt, scarlet silk waist, and jaunty brown jacket, with a brown walking skirt to match.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LIANE'S FLEETING LOVE DREAM

Liane was enchanted with the beautiful city, and Mrs. Brinkley, who felt a proud proprietorship in it, was delighted with her praises.

They went from one grand building to another, but the good woman soon noticed that Liane seemed best pleased walking along the crowded streets, and that instead of observing all that she pointed out, the girl's eyes wandered wistfully from one face to another, as if in search of some one.

"Are you looking for your grandmother?" she asked.

"Oh, no, ma'am," and Liane blushed like a rose.