CHAPTER XLVII.

LADY AMY'S LOVERS.

"Her ruby lips hiding teeth of pearl That dazzle me when she speaks, Her nut-brown hair in riotous curl, Her laugh, which sets all my senses awhirl, And the damask of her cheeks; Her Venus form, like a flower arrayed, In the garb of the blushing May, All bid me rejoice, and undismayed, Swear my heart shall ever lie true to this maid."

Lady Putnam was delighted to find that her son was not averse to the union with his fair American cousin.

Being an American herself, she had a fondness for her old home and her old friends, especially her kinswoman, Mrs. Fitzgerald.

So she heard with delight her son's avowal that he would cut out the humble fireman in the regard of pretty Geraldine.

She readily acceded to every condition he imposed on her in the furtherance of his plans.

Their conference over, he went to seek his friends, whom he found playing a game of billiards with his pretty sister, Lady Amy.

The young Americans were both charmed with the dainty beauty whose dark, curly tresses and laughing blue eyes were so like those of her brother that they showed their near kinship very plainly indeed.

The young lady herself was delighted with her brother's friends. She could not have decided which one she liked better.

When Leroy Hill, who was of a joyous, rollicking disposition, would entertain her with witty anecdotes of people he had seen, she would almost decide after all he was the more interesting of the two, and perhaps the handsomer, for his hazel eyes, with that twinkle of fun in them, were irresistibly fascinating.

But, then, Ralph Washburn, who was of a more thoughtful turn than his friend, and had large, serious, dark-gray eyes, would read to her selections from favorite poets, or sing to her in his rich, clear tenor, and the words would sink deep into her heart, and she would find herself musing:

"I almost like him better than Mr. Hill; but--I dare say they are both sad flirts."

To-day Ralph had been quoting to her some verses from a favorite poet of his own land, and as they gayly knocked the balls about the table, they seemed to sing themselves over persistently in her memory:

"Those dazzling dark-blue eyes! Laughing under shady lashes, Dusky fringed, like clouds of night, And with sudden rainbow flashes, They can hold your heart in thrall With one sudden radiant glance; They can realize all visions And all dreams of old romance.

"Those dazzling dark-blue eyes! How they haunt me in my dreams! With their glancing and their dancing, And their shy, coquettish gleams; They can soften as with love, They can flash with sudden scorn, They can droop like purple flowers Misty with the dews of dawn.

"Those dazzling dark-blue eyes, They grow sad at touch of sorrow; They grow radiant with joy, From her tender heart they borrow Every feeling and emotion That beneath the surface lies, And her very soul is speaking In those dazzling dark-blue eyes.

"Those dazzling dark-blue eyes! I am captive to their charms! They are bright as stars at night, They are like the sun that warms. They are soft as velvet pansies Sparkling in the morning dew, They are all things under heaven, That are beautiful and true."

Since Ralph Washburn had repeated those lines to piquant Lady Amy her eyes had been very shy when they met his glance, hiding their light under the long-fringed lashes, and he smiled when he saw that he had the power to bring that bashful color to her cheek.

It took Lord Putnam but a few minutes to decide that he would not confide to his friends yet the fact that Geraldine was found. He did not want to jeopardize his plans for winning her as simple Harry Hawthorne.

But at heart he was exceedingly anxious to return to America, so he made his plans to begin to-morrow the sight-seeing tour he had planned for Ralph and Leroy. In a few weeks they could see and enjoy a great deal; then he would be free to pursue his courtship of Geraldine. In the meanwhile she would be safe with her mother, and if her heart were disturbed by suspense over his fate, it would only make it grow fonder, so that when they met again it would only be to find a joyous welcome awaiting him.

"'Tis said that absence conquers love, But, oh, believe it not; I've tried, alas, its power to prove, But thou art not forgot. Lady, though fate has bid us part, Yet still thou art so dear, As fixed in this devoted heart As when I clasped thee here.

"I plunge into the busy crowd And smile to hear thy name, And yet as if I thought aloud, They know me still the same. And when the wine-cup passes round, I toast some other fair-- But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echoed there.

"E'en as the wounded bird will seek Its favorite bower to die, So, lady, I would hear thee speak, And yield my parting sigh. 'Tis said that absence conquers love, But, oh, believe it not; I've tried, alas, its power to prove, But thou art not forgot."

When her brother and his friends had gone up to London it seemed very lonely to Lady Amy at Raneleigh.

"Mamma, I hope you will take me to America some time for a long visit; I like Americans so much!" she cried, artlessly.

"So do I," returned her mother, and then she sighed softly to herself.

Who can tell what memories stirred her heart of days of bellehood in New York, when, for plain ambition's sake, she had put aside a plain, untitled lover to wed Lord Putnam and reign at Castle Raneleigh? They had told her, her maneuvering relatives, that love would be sure to come after marriage.

"But what if I already love another?" the beautiful belle had said, pale with anxiety.

"You will soon forget him on the other side of the ocean, and Lord Putnam will have all your heart," they answered.

They were old in experience, and she was young, so she took their advice, and married her titled lover. Perhaps their assurances proved true, perhaps not. At any rate, she was a faithful wife.

But she was not by any means a disconsolate widow.

And at her daughter's praise of Americans, the proud woman's heart echoed every word, and her thoughts flew across the sea to the old home, and the old days, and the old love.

Perhaps he was dead now. She had not heard of him for many years.

Or if he were not dead, he was probably married to another, to some true-hearted girl who prized love above all else.

There was a sting in the thought, and Lady Putnam sighed and turned away without promising her daughter to take her to America. She had no desire to return to the scene of her old triumphs. She wanted sleeping memories to keep still in the grave where they were buried.