The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1885-05-16
STOPPING TO WIN HIM.

STOPPING TO WIN HIM.
The clock on the nearest church
struck four, as stylish private carriage
turned out of the throng on Chestnut
street, Philadelphia, and drew up be-
fore the door of a handsome brown
stone mansion only a few PAGES be-
yond.
The house was one of those fine,
imposing residences built before the
revolution, of which so few now remain.
Modern taste had revolutionized its
awkward aspect, in a measure, but
within it kept its staid, oldworld look
of luxurious comfort, offering to visi-
tor its substantial chairs and Sofas, its
CHEEKY fires in tiled freplaces, its mas
sive mahogany tables, and its crimson
velvet draperies, in fashion if not in
actual material, unchanged from the
time of cone hundred years ago.
In one of the great arm-chairs be-
fore the fire, slight, pretty, fair-haired
girl, of twenty-seven was lounging with
a novel in her hand.
a servant entered-a smartly- dressed
French maid-bearing beautiful bou-
quet on silver salver.
"For me?" asked the young lady.
"No, Miss Isabel. 1t was lett five
minutes ago by Capt. Joyce's servant.
l was coming up the steps just then,
and he placed it in my care for Miss
Genevieve."
"She has just come home, said Isa-
bel Wardroper, shielding her face with
her book. 81 heard the carriage stop.
You need not carry it upstairs, Estelle ;
leave it on the side-table, and when
she comes will give it to her. Was
there any message left with it?"
"No message, Miss"
The girl laid down the flowers and
departed.
Isabel Wardroper listened a moment,
then rose and took the bouquet to the
window.
CAS- l expected" she muttered.
"Here is letter-from him."
With a spiteful wrench of her white,
jeweled fingers she tore it open, and it
read as follows -
Il could not say all l wished when
we last met, because your Cousin Isabel
Joined us too soon.
"But you must have understood my
meaning, dearest Geneyieve. You must
know that l love you-that | wish you
to be my wife.
eff you consent, wear the white rose
| send you with this, in your hair, this
evening, at Mrs. Glenroy's ball. If you
do not wear it l shall know my doom
at glance, and you will never again
be annoyed by VICTOR JOYCE"
Miss Wardroper was fatherless
heiress, the leader of her own "set, -
the queen of fashion, and in virtue OF
all these things, an acknowledged
'beauty," as a matter of course.
Yet the face was positively ugly as
she bent over this most genuine love-
letter. The pretty blue eyes that could
give such shy, appealing glances at her
admirers, looked cold and hard as steel
now, and the small, white teeth caught
the under lip SO sharply and savagely
that they drew blood.
"Never shall she win you! Never
shall you triumph over me !" she cried,
and thrust the letter and the flowers
deep down into the glowing fire.
"What a peculiar Perfume" said
Genevieve, coming into the drawing
room few minutes later, looking fresh
and rosy after her long drive against
the wind. "What is it Bell?"
"This pastille, | suppose" said Isa-
bel motioning toward the smoke that
curled from the miniature watch-tower
in silver, on the table by her side.
"What shall you wear tonight, Gene
vieve?'
"White of course" said her cousin
absently.
"Then III lend you my pearl neck,
lace and bracelets, and those Lowell,
pins, with ain-drops for your hair
They will show to great advantage il
your black braids" said Isabel, speak
ing in kind, careless way.
"Will you?" Genevieve's eye:
frightened with pleasure at the though
of looking well in the eyes she loved
"You are SO good to me, dear Isabel
Every one is good and kind, l think.
cannot imagine why people SO often say
and write that this is an unhappy worlc
of ours"
She went singing up to her own room
to make some preparation for the toll
cite of the evening.
IsabePs blue eyes followed her. Al
evil smile played around her prett!
mouth meanwhile.
'You will be wiser, soon, on tina
point, Cousin Genevieve; and it vii
be my fault that you are SO. But sine,
one of US two must suffer in this bust
ness, am fully determined that it shal
not be myself"
*
"Infatuated That is the prope
word to use, my dear" said Mrs. Ward
roper, looking up from her breakfast a
her daughter. 81 never saw a mal