In a short time the words were spoken that made Pansy Laurens for a second time a wife, and, though it was like a deathblow to her happiness, she bore herself with proud calmness that the good man by her side should have no cause to suspect that she had sacrificed herself for his sake.
In a few days more they went abroad, taking Juliette with them, as also the valet and the two maids. Several months were spent in Italy, then when winter was past they traveled for several months. When autumn came round again Colonel Falconer began to think of purchasing a home and settling down in the land of his adoption.
Juliette was behaving herself quite well; that is to say, she was treating her uncle’s wife with a show of respect, though hating her as bitterly as ever in her secret heart.
At times she complained to her uncle that she did not wish to remain always abroad, but he had only to remind her of the snubbing she had received from her friends at home to reduce her to instant silence and submission.
At such times she would recall the Wyldes with bitter chagrin, and she made up her mind that she would marry a title if she could possibly compass it, and then go to Virginia to spend her honeymoon, in order to mortify those of her old friends who had dared to disapprove of her because of the revenge she had taken on her rival, the poor working girl, Pansy Laurens.
She was anxious to get away from the guardianship of her uncle and his wife. To live always with the rival who had triumphed over her, and to have those triumphs renewed daily—for Pansy had been a decided success wherever she had appeared in society, and the society journals always mentioned them as “Colonel Falconer’s beautiful bride, and his pretty niece, Miss Ives”—was too bitter to her pride.
“I am tired of it all! I have eaten humble pie till I loathe the taste,” Juliette muttered discontentedly; and when at last old Sir John Crowley, who was as yellow as a pumpkin, having spent the best years of his life in India before succeeding to a baronetcy, proposed marriage to her, she accepted him joyfully.
“Oh, Juliette, that old man! Why, he is past sixty, and yellow and ugly and cross!” Pansy cried, in dismay; but Juliette tossed her head, and answered:
“You married an old man for his money, and I’m going to marry one for a title and money, too, that’s all!”
“But I have heard that he isn’t rich—that the title is almost a barren honor. He has nothing but a small estate in Cornwall. You will have to nurse him half your time, as he is in poor health.”
“I don’t care, and I wish you would mind your own business! Uncle has promised me a marriage portion, anyhow, and that shall be strictly settled on myself. Sir John is so much in love with me that he’ll agree to anything,” Juliette retorted. But events proved differently. Sir John would not agree to the proposition, and so Juliette, in a huff, declared the match off, vowing that the baronet was a wretched old fortune hunter.
Following hard upon the breaking of this engagement, which occurred in the second winter after Pansy’s remarriage to Colonel Falconer, came a very sad event.
A beautiful villa at Florence had been purchased, and the small family had settled down there for the winter. It was a very pleasant neighborhood, and one evening they were entertaining a small party of friends, when the colonel suddenly complained of severe pains, and a physician was at once summoned to his side. But medical skill proved vain, for within an hour he died, as Juliette’s mother had died, of heart failure.
He comprehended that the end was near, for, between the paroxysms of pain, he whispered to Pansy:
“You have made this past year very happy, my darling. I have never had cause to believe that you cherished a single regret.”