CHAPTER V.
THE FIRST KISS.
Pale and trembling from her fright, Jessie leaned against the wall when Frank Laurier returned to her, jaunty and debonair, saying lightly:
“I have pitched the bold fellow down the steps, and he has gone off out of the way. Why, how pale and ill you look! Were you so much frightened of a kiss?”
“Yes—from that wretch!” she faltered, and his deep-blue eyes laughed at her quizzically, and with something like daring in them as he led her out to the pavement to an elegant little trap, and, taking up the reins, drove off in great style for the park.
Jessie’s heart throbbed with pride and joy, but she still trembled violently from the struggle with Doyle.
She half sobbed:
“Oh, I never can thank you enough for driving him away! If he had kissed me—oh, I should have died of disgust!”
“Died of a kiss, ha, ha!” laughed the young man gayly, so amused at the idea that it took firm hold of his memory, to be recalled at a fateful aftertime.
“Have you never been kissed by a young man, then, little Jessie?” he added, still laughing.
“Oh, no, no, never!” blushing deeply.
“Then he will be a lucky young fellow who gets the first kiss from you! I wonder who he will be! Can you guess?”
The great, dark eyes stole a shy glance at him under the drooping lashes, as she whispered demurely:
“Only the man I shall marry!”
“Oh, indeed!”
Did he think she was chaffing him, or coquettishly daring him, or what? It is certain he was in a reckless, flippant mood, and that swift glance of hers warmed his blood like wine. They were in the park now, driving under the shadow of some autumn-colored trees, and all in a flash his arm slipped round her waist, the brown head bent over the golden one.
She did not struggle, sweet Jessie, against this bold caress, simply yielded to it with a delirious throb of joy, letting his lips drain the sweetness of hers unhindered, as a bee sips the sweets of the rose, her thrilling form resting quiescent against the arm that clasped her close to his heart. When he released her, neither spoke a word, Jessie sat very still, her form inclined slightly toward him, her eyes downcast and shining, her cheeks warmly flushed, her moist lips tremulous, her bosom heaving with emotion, a lovely picture of girlish tenderness on which the young man’s eyes rested with pleasure.
He touched up the sleek, black ponies with the whip, and directly they were borne into the thick of the crowd that made the beautiful drives a gay, changeful panorama of fine horses, smart turnouts, and magnificently dressed women.
Frank Laurier blent readily with the animated crowd, sitting erect with a very pale face, compressed lips, and eyes that glittered with a blue fire as he swept them eagerly and restlessly over the passing faces, returning salutations every moment or so, and seemingly almost forgetting the girl by his side in some secret, overmastering excitement.
As for her, if she could have thought of anything but that kiss and the bliss of his nearness, she would have begun to feel out of place in her cheap, simple dress there in the moving throng of richly garbed women, whose glances rested in wonder on the fair face and cheap attire of the girl by Laurier’s side. She did not, indeed, guess how different she looked from the others, or how very strange it was for a man in his position to run the gantlet of all those curious, surprised eyes—he, one of the fashionable four hundred, with that little working girl by his side.
If the innocent child gave a thought to the incongruity, she only felt it as a tribute of his regard for her.
She felt an exquisite pleasure in thus being exhibited at his side to the habitués of his particular world, and did not realize the strangeness of his inattention to herself, or the eagerness of his excited glance as it roved from carriage to carriage filled with fair faces and bright, sparkling eyes, as if in restless search for some one.
At last!
Jessie, close to his side, felt the young man give a quick start of surprise and emotion, at the same moment lifting his hat with a low bow.
She saw passing them on the drive a splendid, low victoria, containing two handsome, elegantly dressed ladies, one past the first blush of girlhood, the other—oh!—the dark beauty of this morning who had come to Madame Barto’s to know her fate and fortune!
Jessie’s dark, uplifted eyes met and held for a moment the flashing orbs of the beautiful brunette, and all in a moment she felt as if she were withering in the heat of some desert simoom, so fierce and malevolent was that look that seemed to scorch her very soul.
She thought with a thrill of nameless fear:
“The beautiful stranger hates me!—I wonder why!”
But the next moment the fear was blotted out in a new terror.
No one could ever tell what frightened Frank Laurier’s spirited ponies, but just as they passed the victoria they bolted wildly and ran away in spite of his close grip on the reins, creating a terrible panic and confusion, and barely missing a collision with another carriage.