separated only by the nominal barrier of a little railing, while just
beyond sat Norman, his chair turned toward the two girls. The stranger
insisted on drawing Mae into the conversation, partly for curiosity's
sake, to watch her odd face and manners, partly from that genuine
generosity that comes to the most selfish of women, when she is
satisfied with her position. It is pleasant to pity, to be generous; and
Miss Rae, having the man, could afford to share him now and then, when
it pleased her, with the lonely girl by her side. But Miss Rae's tactics
did not work. Mae replied pleasantly when addressed, but returned
speedily and eagerly to Mrs. Jerrold or a survey of the house, with
the frank happiness of a child. She was all the more fascinating to the
admiring eyes that watched her, because she sat alone, electrified by
the inspiration and magnetism from within, and did not need the stimulus
of another voice close by her side, breathing compliments and flattery,
to brighten her eyes and call the blushes to her cheeks. Norman Mann saw
the eyes fixed on her, and they vexed him. At the same time, he liked
her the better on that very account.

And at last the curtain rose.

It was just as Desdemona assures her father of her love for Othello,
that Mae became conscious of a riveted gaze--of a presence. Lifting her
eyes, and widening them, she looked over to the opposite side of
the house, and there, of course, was the Piedmontese officer again,
handsomer, more brilliant than ever, with a grateful, soft look of
recognition in his eyes.

Mae was out of harmony with all her friends. She was proud and lonely.
The man's pleased, softened look touched her heart strangely. There was
almost a choke in her throat, there were almost tears in her eyes, and