"
A deep blush of pleasure at the words which, though so extravagant,
Joy felt to be sincere, increased her beauty as she looked up into
Preston Cheney's admiring eyes.
And as he held her hands in both of his and gazed down upon her it
seemed to the Baroness she could strike them dead at her feet and
rejoice in the act.
Beside this radiant vision of loveliness and genius, Alice looked
plainer and more meagre than ever before. She was like a wayside
weed beside an American Beauty rose.
"I hope you and Alice will become good friends," Mr Cheney said
warmly. "We should like to see you at the house any time you can
make it convenient to come, would we not Mabel?"
Mrs Cheney gave a formal assent to her husband's words as they turned
away, leaving Joy with the rector. And a scene in one of life's
strangest dramas had been enacted, unknown to them all.
"I would like you to be very friendly with that girl, Alice," Mr
Cheney repeated as they seated themselves in the carriage. "She has
a rare face, a rare face, and she is highly gifted. She reminds me
of someone I have known, yet I can't think who it is. What do you
know about her, Baroness?"
The Baroness gave an expressive shrug. "Since you admire her so
much," she said, "I rather hesitate telling you. But the girl is of
common origin--a grocer's daughter, and her mother quite an inferior
person.
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