The Widowed Bride — page 158: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE WIDOWED BRIDE, TAG ‘Do you think so meanly of me that you can fancy I can laugh at my own folly and deceit?” asked Rena, indignantly. ‘“‘Nay, those are too harsh terms to use. However, we will not discuss the question. Iam staying at Vyvyan Court just at present, and when I told my mother before leaving Balfour House that I should probably find my way over here to call, she bade me give you her love. So you see you are quite forgiven, little amateur actress though you were!” ‘She is very kind,” said Rena, in a low voice, ‘‘but I do not think I deserve her leniency... Shall we go in now?” | And she rose so resolutely that, although Lord Balfour would infinitely have preferred to prolong the ¢tete-a-tete, he could find no excuse. Somehow this fair young companion of Lady Blanche Arden had possessed in his eyes a name- less, unanalyzed attraction which had never, in his eyes, belonged to title dame, or dweller around the steps of the English throne. Ak His stay at Vyvyan Court, originally designed only to be of a few days’ durance, lengthened itself out into weeks, and there were few bright days when he did not manage to find his way to Glenhampton Castle.on one pretext or another; and Rena Percival began, unconsciously, to look forward to his visits, and to feel disappointed when he did not come. In the midst of this unwritten idyl, a new element en- tered into the daily life at Glenhampton Castle. <A bevy of visitors from London came down, and among them were Captain Ernest Evelyn and Lord Vere Temple. ‘Hate is determined to undo all my plans!” thought Lady Glenhampton, despairingly. But she was not one to aban-_ don her post while there was yet the shadow of a hope to cling to. ‘‘Krnest,” she said, as she came upon him in the entrance hall the evening after his arrival, ‘‘where are you going?” . *To smoke in the shrubberies, mother.” ““"hen I will walk with you. No; do not throw away your cigar.” And she passed her arm caressingly through his as she led him out into the graveled walk leading to a secluded mass of foreign shrubs, where the purple spring twilight made a sort of enchanted light. ‘‘Hrnest,” she said, ‘“‘your father is coming home soon.” “My stepfather, you mean,” corrected the young man, carelessly, biting off the end of his cigar. A mn EComichooks:co: