I had
intended to keep these rooms for some weeks, but, unfortunately for me,
though fortunately for you, the present terrible financial crisis, which
has most unjustly brought my son into such scandalous prominence, will
oblige me to return to San Francisco until his reputation is fully
cleared of these foul aspersions. I shall only ask you to allow me the
undisturbed possession of these rooms for a couple of hours until I can
pack my trunks and gather up a few souvenirs that I almost always keep
with me."
"Pray, consider that your wishes are my own in respect to that, my
dear madam," returned Demorest gravely, "and that, indeed, I protested
against even this temporary intrusion upon your apartments; but I
confess that now that you have spoken of your souvenirs I have the
greatest curiosity about one of them, and that even my object in seeking
this interview was to gratify it. It is in regard to a photograph which
I saw on the chimney-piece in your bedroom, which I think I recognized
as that of some one whom I formerly knew."
There was a sudden look of sharp suspicion and even hard aggressiveness
that quite changed the lady's face as he mentioned the word "souvenir,"
but it quickly changed to a smile as she put up her fan with a gesture
of arch deprecation, and said:
"Ah! I see. Of course, a lady's photograph."
The reply irritated Demorest. More than that, he felt a sudden sense of
the absolute sentimentality of his request, and the consciousness
that he was about to invite the familiar confidence of this strange
woman--whose son had forged his name--in regard to HER!
"It was a Venetian picture," he began, and stopped, a singular disgust
keeping him from voicing the name.
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