dancing with my nephew, Howard Templeton?" he said, to her after a short silence.
She looked up and saw Edith Wayland, one of her bridesmaids, whirling through the waltz in the arms of her deadly foe.
"Yes," she said, with a kind of stifled gasp.
"She's in love with my nephew," said the old man, with a low chuckle of pleasure.
"Indeed? Did she tell you so?" asked Mrs. St. John, half scornfully.
"Never mind how I found out. It's true, anyhow. And she is a great heiress, my dear, almost as rich as I am. I mean to make a match between her and my nephew."
"Do you?" she asked, but her voice was very low and faint, and the room swam around her so that the dancers seemed mingled in inextricable mazes.
"Yes, I do; but what is the matter with you, my darling?" he said, looking anxiously at her. "You have grown so pale!"
"It is nothing—a headache from the heat of the rooms," she murmured, confusedly, "but go on. You were saying–"
"That I am going to marry my nephew to Miss Wayland—yes. She is very rich, and he, well, the poor fellow, you know, Xenie, always expected to be my heir. And now, since my marriage, of course his prospects are entirely altered. He cannot expect much from me now. But I'm going to set him up with a few thousands, and marry him to the heiress. That's almost as well as leaving him my money—isn't it?" he laughed. "I've spoken to Howard about it, and he is pleased with the idea. There will be no difficulty with her, I am sure. Howard was always a lucky dog among the girls."
He laughed, and rubbed his withered palms softly together, and Xenie sat perfectly silent, her brain in a whirl, her pulse beating at fever heat.
Was this old man, whom she hated because his despotic will had blasted her brief dream of happiness, to despoil her of her revenge for which she had dared and risked so much?
And Howard Templeton—was her oath of vengeance of no avail, that fortune should make him her spoiled darling still?
The waltz music ceased with a great, passionate crash of melody, and the gentlemen led their partners to their seats.
Mr. St. John resigned his seat to Edith Wayland, and moved away on the arm of his nephew.
"What a handsome man Mr. Templeton is," said the lovely girl shyly to Mrs. St. John.
The bride looked after his retreating figure with a curl of her scarlet lip.
"Yes, he is as handsome as a Greek god," she said, "but then, he is utterly heartless—a mere fortune-hunter."
"Oh! Mrs. St. John, surely not," said Miss Wayland, in an anxious tone. "Why should you think so?"
"Perhaps it would suit you as well not to hear," said Mrs. St. John, with an arch insinuation in her look and tone.
"By no means. Pray tell me your reasons for what you said, Mrs. St. John," said the sweet, blue-eyed girl, blushing very much, and nervously fluttering her white satin fan.
"Well, since you are not particularly interested in him, I will tell you," was the careless reply. "I was engaged to Mr. Templeton myself, two winters ago—when I first came out, you know, dear! I suppose he thought I was wealthy, for Aunt Egerton dressed me elegantly, and lent me her diamonds. The summer after our engagement he came to the country to see me, and then he found out my poverty—for I will tell you candidly, Edith, my people are as poor as church mice—and, would you believe it? he went back and wrote me a letter, and told me he could not afford to marry for love—he must have an heiress or none. So our little affair was all over with then, you know."
She paused and looked away, for she knew that she had stabbed the girl's heart deeply, and she did not wish to witness the pain she had inflicted.
In a moment, however, Miss Wayland exclaimed, indignantly:
"Oh! Mrs. St. John, is it possible that Mr. Templeton could have treated you so cruelly and heartlessly?"
"It is quite true, Miss Wayland. If you doubt my word I give you carte blanche to ask my aunt, Mrs. Egerton, or even Mr. Templeton himself. You see I have the best reason in the world for accusing him of being a fortune-hunter."
The beautiful young girl did not think of doubting Mrs. St. John's assertion, although it caused her the bitterest pain.
There was an earnestness in the words and tones of the bride that carried conviction with them.
Miss Wayland sat musing quietly a moment, then she said, hesitatingly:
"May I ask if you are friends with Mr. Templeton now, Mrs. St. John?"
Xenie lifted her dark eyes and looked at the gentle girl.
"Should you love a man that won your heart and threw it away like a broken toy?" she asked, slowly.
"I do not believe that I could ever forgive him," said Edith, frankly.
"Nor can I," answered Xenie, in a low voice of repressed passion. "No, I am not friends with him, Edith, and never shall be; I am not the kind of woman who could forgive such a cruel slight."
Neither of them said another word on the subject, but Edith knew quite well from that moment why Xenie had married Mr. St. John.
"It was not for the sake of the money, but simply to revenge herself on Howard Templeton," she said to herself, with a woman's ready wit.
And when Mr. Templeton, according to his uncle's desire, offered her his hand and heart, a few days later, expecting to have her for the asking, he was surprised to receive a cold, almost contemptuous refusal.
But she dropped a few words before they parted by which he knew plainly that his deadly foe had been working against him, and that her revengeful hand had struck a fortune from his grasp for the second time in the space of a week.
CHAPTER IV
Several months of irksome quiet to Mrs. St. John succeeded the festivities that followed upon her marriage.
Her elderly bridegroom found that protracted gayeties did not agree with his age and health, and with the obstinacy common to a selfish old age, he prohibited his wife from participation in those scenes of pleasure in which, by reason of her youth and beauty, she was so pre-eminently fitted to shine.
He could not stand such excitement himself, he said, and he wanted his wife at home to cheer and solace his declining years.
So the beautiful bridal dresses hung in the wardrobe unworn, and the costly jewels hid their brightness locked away in their caskets.
Xenie had small need for these things in the lonely life to which she found herself condemned by her foolish, doting old husband.
Loving pleasure and excitement with all the ardor of a passionate, impulsive temperament like hers, it is quite possible that Mrs. St. John might have rebelled against her liege lord's selfishness, but for one strong purpose to which she bent every energy, subordinating everything else to its accomplishment.
So she bore his selfish exactions with a patient, yielding sweetness, and ministered to his caprices with the beautiful devotion of a fireside angel.
She was using every sweet persuasion in her power to induce Mr. St. John to execute a will in her favor.
She had learned that in the event of his death, without a will, his widow would legally inherit only one-third of his great wealth, while the remaining two-thirds would descend to his next of kin—the next of kin in this case being her enemy, Howard Templeton.
Xenie knew that her revenge would not be secure until her husband had made his will and cut off his nephew without a dollar.
She had believed that Mr. St. John's infatuation for her would make her task easy, but she had not counted upon the uneasy sense in the old man's mind of a certain injustice done to the nephew he had reared, by his unexpected marriage.
"No, no, Xenie," he said, when she openly pleaded with him to make such a will. "It would be unjust to leave poor Howard without a dollar to support himself."
"He is a man," said Xenie, scornfully. "He has his head and