|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 63
"Breitmann?"
"What makes you think I am interested in Mr. Breitmann?"
Fitzgerald could not exactly tell. "Perhaps I have noticed you
watching him."
"Ah, you have good eyes, Mr. Fitzgerald. Have you observed that I have
been watching you also?"
"Yes. You haven't been quite sure of me." Fitzgerald smiled a little.
"But you may rest your mind. I never break my word."
"Nor do I, my friend. Have patience. Satan take these small boats!"
He stifled a groan.
"A little champagne?"
"Nothing, nothing; thank you."
"As you will. Good night."
Fitzgerald shut the door and returned to the smoking-room. Something
or other, concerning Breitmann; he was sure of it. What had he done,
or what was he going to do, that France should watch him? There was no
doubt in his mind now; Breitmann had known of this treasure and had
come to The Pines simply to put his hands on the casket. M. Ferraud
had tried to forestall him. This much of the riddle was plain. But
the pivots upon which these things turned! There was something more
than a treasure in the balance. Well, M. Ferraud had told him to wait.
There was nothing else for him to do.
A little rubber at bridge was in progress. The admiral was playing
with Mrs. Coldfield and Cathewe sat opposite Hildegarde. The latter
two were losing. She was ordinarily a skilful player, as Cathewe knew;
but to-night she lost constantly, was reckless with her leads, and
played carelessly into her opponents' hands. Cathewe watched her
gravely. Never had he seen her more beautiful; and the apprehension
that she would never be his was like a hand straining over his heart.
Yes, she was beautiful; but he did not know that there was death in her
eyes and death in her smile. Once upon a time he had believed that her
heart had broken; but she was learning that the heart breaks, rebreaks,
and breaks again.
How many times he stood on the precipice during the dinner hour,
Breitmann doubtless would never be told. A woman scorned is an old
story; still, the story goes on, retold each day. Education may smooth
the externals, but underneath the fire burns just as furiously as of
old. To this affront the average woman's mind leaps at once to
revenge; and that she does not always take it depends upon two things;
opportunity, and love, which is more powerful than revenge. Sometimes,
on hot summer nights, clouds form angrily in the distance; vivid
flashes dartle hither and about, which serve to intensify the evening
darkness. Thus, a similar phenomenon was taking place in Hildegarde
von Mitter's mind. The red fires of revenge danced before her eyes,
blurring the spots, on the cards, the blackness of despair crowding
upon each flash. Let him beware! With a word she could shatter his
dream; ay, and so she would. What! sit there and let him turn the
knife in her heart and receive the pain meekly? No! It was the
thoughtless brutality with which he went about this new affair that bit
so poignantly. To show her, so indurately, that she was nothing, that,
despite her magnificent sacrifice, she had never been more than a
convenience, was maddening. There was no spontaneity in his heart; his
life was a calculation to which various sums were added or subtracted.
With all her beauty, intellect, genius and generosity, she had not been
able to stir him as this young girl was unconsciously doing. She held
no animosity for the daughter of her host; she was clear-visioned
enough to put the wrong where it belonged.
"It is your lead," said the admiral patiently.
"Pardon me!" contritely. The gentle reproach brought her back to the
surroundings.
"It is the motion of the boat," hazarded Cathewe, as he saw her lead
the ace. "I often find myself losing count in waiting for the next
roll."
"Mr. Cathewe is very kind," she replied. "The truth is, however, I am
simply stupid to-night."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|