Marguerite Verne | Page 9

haughty mien shows that her associations and preferences are with the patrician side of nature.
"Will you come in, too, Rania? I need not ask Marguerite, lest she might miss a chance of seeing 'Farmer Phil' and lose effervescence of the hayseed. Do you know he is always associated, in my mind, with homespun and hayseed."
Evelyn Verne laughed at the cleverness of her remark, and adjusting her mantle entered a publisher's establishment, followed by the said Rania Lister.
"Homespun and hayseed," muttered a muffled figure as he stood in the recess of a doorway, from which situation he could see each occupant of the sleigh and hear every syllable that was uttered.
"Homespun and hayseed! ah! my proud beauty, the effervescence of hayseed is less noxious than the stench odors inhaled from dissipation and vice, notwithstanding the fact that they are perfumed over with all the garish compliments and conventional gallantries that society demands."
Phillip Lawson had a highly-wrought imaginative temperament. He had not heard more than those few words, but his mind was quick to take in the whole situation. He could hear the lengthy speeches of ridicule and sarcasm aimed at him from every possible standpoint, and he felt the more determined to live down the scathing thoughts. The man did not hear the reply by Marguerite Verne to her arrogant sister, but he calmly and slowly repeated the words--"God bless you, noble girl!" He still had faith in the purity of her mind, and would have given much to be able to convince her of the fact.
It did, indeed, seem a coincidence that the moment Phillip Lawson uttered the words above quoted, an almost perfect repetition found their way into Marguerite's heart, and left a deep impression which all the taunts of the subtle Evelyn could not shake off. Nor did it seem strange to her when she fancied that a figure, on the opposite side of the street, hurrying along at a rapid pace could be none other than the subject of her thoughts.
* * * * *
"A delightful evening, indeed. It is almost too fine to remain indoors."
The speaker is none other than Mr. Lawson. He is looking his best in the neatly-fitting dress suit, with all the little make-ups necessary to complete a gentleman's evening costume, and while he leisurely surveys the groups of pretty faces on every side, is also engaged in entertaining a bewitching little brunette, charmingly attired in cream veiling and lace, with clusters of lovely damask roses to enhance the brilliancy of her complexion.
The scene was truly intoxicating. Mrs. Holman, the fashionable belle of society and wife of one of the leading physicians of the city, was entertaining a brilliant assemblage of the elite. The informal announcement of her grand "at home" had kept society in a delightful state of anticipation for the past ten days, and reality was indeed equal to all that could be devised. The grand drawing-room, furnished with regard to the beautiful in art, was certainly a fit receptacle for such an array of beauty and grace. There was the exquisite blonde, with face of angelic purity; next came the imperial Cleopatras, with their dusky grandeur of style rivalling that of empresses; and conspicuous among the latter was Evelyn Verne. Her amber-satin robes revealed the fact that she was an adept in the art of dress, and spared no pains to display the beautifully-rounded form and graceful carriage as she whirled through the mazes of the waltz, with Montague Arnold as partner. The latter was indeed a handsome man--one that is sure to attract a fashionable woman. There is a sarcastic expression lurking around the well-formed mouth, that has not, to the intelligent mind, a wholesome tendency; but then there is such a dash of style, and an amount of gay and charming sentiment in every word, that the resistless Montague Arnold finds himself an important adjunct to every gathering representing wealth and prestige.
To an ordinary observer the contrast between Phillip Lawson and the acknowledged beau of society never appeared more striking, and many would exclaim, "Well, Lawson is a very nice fellow, but then he is awkward, and makes a poor appearance in society."
At this moment a familiar and graceful figure engaged the attention of the young lawyer. Marguerite Verne has been dancing, and accidentally finds herself seated near the conservatory in which Phillip stood. He is instantly at her side and it is then that the real beauty asserts itself--beauty of soul. "Miss Marguerite, I see you are determined to enjoy yourself, if I may judge by the number of dances you have already participated in," said the young man, eager to join in conversation with the gentle but dignified girl.
"Why are you not doing likewise, Mr. Lawson? Now if all the gentlemen were like you what would