CHAPTER V.
THE LOVER REAPPEARS.
Arnell & Grey, the firm at whose immense tobacco factory Pansy Laurens worked, were noted for their kindness and liberality to their employees. Every year they planned and carried out, at their own expense, some pleasant entertainment, to which every one in the factory was cordially invited; and this summer it took the form of a delightful excursion.
A crowded steamer carried the large number of employees down the James River, and a fine band furnished music for the gay young people, who danced all day upon the deck, under the blue sky and bright sunlight of August. Downstairs a dinner was waiting, and nothing that could conduce to the pleasure of the occasion had been forgotten by Arnell & Grey, who delighted in the success of their generous undertakings.
Pansy Laurens went, of course—naughty Pansy, who had been in disgrace for a month with her relations, on account of her crime of stealing a rich girl’s lover away. Yes, it was almost five weeks now since Uncle Robbins had taken Pansy back to Richmond and told her mother sternly that he was sorry he had ever taken her away, since she had made serious trouble among his boarders, and flirted boldly with a young man who was engaged to another girl.
He had brought her home to get her out of harm’s way, he said, and he advised his sister to keep a sharp lookout upon the willful girl, as Norman Wylde had vowed he would follow her to Richmond.
Mrs. Laurens expressed herself to her brother as being ashamed of her daughter’s bad conduct, and determined to keep her in strict bounds hereafter.
She scolded Pansy, and threatened to lock her in her room on bread and water if she ever spoke to that dangerous young man again.
Poor Pansy could do nothing but tell her own side of the story.
She had not been bold and forward. She had not known Norman Wylde was engaged to anybody, and she did not know that he was amusing himself only, when he made love to her in those bright summer days. When she found out that he was only flirting she had told him never to speak to her again.
“Stick to that, little gal, and there won’t be no more trouble,” said Uncle Robbins approvingly.
“Yes; don’t let him come near you again as long as you live,” added Mrs. Robbins sharply, and Pansy thought to herself that she never would.
She was overwhelmed with shame and grief at this pitiless exposé of her futile love dream, and down in her little heart was a secret resentment, too, at the hardness of everybody. Why should they declare that she had been bold and forward? She knew that it was untrue, and their blame cut deep into the sensitive heart. Norman Wylde, too—how could he have been so cruel, so unkind? Her pillow was wet with tears every night as she strove through long, sleepless hours to banish from memory the false, sweet smiles and loving dark eyes that haunted her and made so hard the bitter task she was essaying.
She was not among the dancers to-day, although she was the prettiest girl on board, and had many invitations from gallant young men. But she chose rather to sit leaning pensively over the handrail and gaze with grave blue eyes into the foamy depths of the water. Many eyes wandered to the pretty figure in the snowy-white dress and wide, daisy-trimmed straw hat; many wondered why she seemed so sad, but none guessed that she was thinking that she would like to be at rest under those softly lapping waves, with the story of her young life ended here and now.
Ah, how suddenly her despondent mood was changed! A shadow came between her and the light—some one sat down beside her and facing her. She looked up, startled, and saw—Norman Wylde.
Norman Wylde, pale and impassioned-looking, with a determined light in his splendid dark eyes.
As she made a movement to rise, his strong hand closed over her weak little white ones, and forced her back into her seat.
“Sit still,” he whispered hoarsely, desperately. “I must speak to you, and you shall listen.”
She glanced about her with frightened eyes. No one was looking. The music was pulsing sweetly on the air, and the dancers were keeping time with flying feet. She looked up at him, pale with emotion.
“You can have nothing to say to me that I wish to hear, Mr. Wylde, for I despise you,” she answered bitterly.
“That is not true, Pansy, for a month ago you owned that you loved me, and you have not unlearned your love so soon. Falsehoods have been told you, and you knew no better than to believe them without giving me a chance to defend myself. I have written to you, but my letters came back to me unopened. I have dogged your footsteps on the streets, but you fled from me, and, as a last resort, I came upon this excursion, determined to force a hearing from you. Will you listen to me? Will you let me explain the meaning of that scene with Juliette Ives that day?”
She struggled under his detaining hand, anxious to escape, yet not wishing to make a scene.
“You were engaged to her, yet you made love to me; that is enough for me to know,” she answered, turning crimson in her humiliation; but her indifference and eagerness to get away only made him more determined to conquer her pride.
“Pansy, you are driving me mad,” he cried imploringly; then, with sudden passion, he added: “Unless you will sit still and listen to what I have to say to you, I swear I will drown myself before your eyes!”