Still, Mabel Aylett was not a belle, and Rosa Tazewell was. Callow

collegians and enterprising young merchants from the city;

sunbrowned owners of spreading acres and hosts of laborers; students

and practitioners of law and medicine, and an occasional theologue,

had broken their hearts for perhaps a month at a time, for love of

her, since she was a school-girl in short dresses. Yet there had

been a date very far back in the acquaintanceship of each of these

with the charmer, when he had marvelled at the infatuation which had

blinded her previous adorers. She was "a neat little thing," with

her round waist, her tiny hands and feet and roguish eye--but there

was nothing else remarkable about her features, and in coloring, the

picture was too dark for his taste. Why, she might be mistaken for a

creole! And each critic held fast to his expressed opinion until the

roguish eyes met his directly and with meaning, and he found himself

diving into the bright, shimmering wells, and drowning--still

ecstatically--before he reached the bottom whence streamed the light

of passionate feeling, striking upward through the surface. What her

glances did not effect was done by her dazzling smile and musical

voice.

As one of her victims swore, "It was a dearer delight to be rejected

by her than to be accepted by a dozen other girls--she did the thing

up so handsomely! And yet, do you know, sir, I could have shot

myself for a barbarous brute when I saw the pitying tears standing

upon her lashes, and heard the tremor in her sweet tones, as she

begged me to forgive her for not loving me!"

Those she had once captivated never quite rid themselves of the

glamour of her arts; remained her trusty squires, ready to serve, or

to defend her always afterward.

Aunt Rachel, intent, during the short pause, upon the movements of

the servant who was setting the smoking breakfast upon the table,

glanced around when all was properly arranged, to summon the two to

their places--but something in Rosa's attitude and countenance held

her momentarily speechless. Mabel still bent over her roses, in

smiling interest, and Frederic Chilton was watching her--but not as

the third person of the group about the beaufet watched them both

between her half-closed lids, her black brows close together, and

the glittering teeth visible under the curling upper lip.

"She looked like a panther lying in wait for her prey!" Mrs. Sutton

said to her niece, many months later, in attempting to describe the

scene. "Or like a bright-eyed snake coiled for a spring. The sight

of her sent shivers all down my spine."




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