The Fatal Glove by Clara Augusta
page 118 of 169 (69%)
page 118 of 169 (69%)
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He never kissed her, never took her hands in his, or held her to him when
he said good-by, as he frequently did, for several days' absence on matters of business. He never called her Alexandrine--it was always Mrs. Trevlyn; and through the long winter evenings, when they were not at some ball or party, and sat by their splendid fireside, he never put his head in her lap, and let her soft fingers caress his hair, as she had seen other husbands do. In September, Louis Castrani again appeared in New York society. His appearance revived the old story of his devotion to Margaret Harrison, and people began to wonder why she staid away from home so long. As soon as he heard of Castrani's arrival, Archer Trevlyn sought him out. He felt that he had a right to know if his suspicions touching Margie were correct. Castrani received him coldly but courteously. Trevlyn was not to be repelled, but went to the point at once. "Mr. Castrani," he said, "I believe I have to deal with a man of honor, and I trust that you will do me the favor of answering the questions I may ask, frankly." "I shall be happy to answer any inquiries which Mr. Trevlyn may propound, provided they are not impertinent," replied Castrani, haughtily. Trevlyn hesitated. He dreaded to have his suspicions confirmed, and he feared that if this man spoke the truth, such would be the case. "I am listening, Mr. Trevlyn," remarked Castrani. |
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