know what a dreadful flirt he is. One glance from Will Venners’ dark eyes, and a poor woman’s heart is subjugated—slain. And to think that, although he quotes poetry, and writes it, too—such beautiful poetry—that he is only amusing himself! Yet, no; I really think that Will believes it all himself. He means all that he says in every flirtation in which he indulges. But as soon as affairs begin to assume a serious aspect, like the knight in the old song, But poor, dear Violet seems quite infatuated.” “Stop!” Leonard Yorke’s voice was hoarse and strained. “Miss Hilda, stop, I beg of you. Don’t you know—you surely must know—that she and I are——” “Good friends? I know it. Dear me, Leon—Mr. Yorke—of course, everybody knows that; and I was about to suggest that you remonstrate with Violet in regard to her infatuation. Yet, truly, their conduct lately makes me suspect that they are engaged. Ah! there they are now. Don’t they look like a pair of betrothed lovers?” [Pg 25] [Pg 25] It is said that the devil always helps his own; and without any personal allusions in regard to Miss Hilda Rutledge, it certainly seemed as though his Satanic Majesty had intervened to assist her cruel scheme, for whom should they come upon, standing in the silvery moonlight under the branches of a live-oak not far away, but Violet Arleigh, and at her side handsome Will Venners! He was gazing down into her face with a tender look in those dangerous dark eyes. It looked for all the world like a leaf from a love story. But in reality this is what he was saying to her: “So, Miss Violet, you think that there is hope for me? I have loved her so long; it is no flirtation this time. Sweet Jessie Glyndon is the only woman I have ever loved well enough to wish to make my wife.” And Violet’s sympathetic tone responds: “I think she likes you, Will. Shall I tell you why? Because, although she laughs at you when you attempt to enact the lover, just let any one venture a slighting remark concerning you, and she will fly into a passion and defend you with all her might. Jessie Glyndon is a peculiar woman—the very proudest woman I ever knew. But a woman doesn’t hate a man whom she watches with her very soul in her eyes. An hour ago, Will, I found her in the rose arbor all alone. She was watching you in the distance—you were flirting awfully with some one, you naughty
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