But Mrs. Van Loo was less reticent. "Oh, you mean my dearest friend--a
lovely picture, and you know her? Why, yes, surely. You are THE Mr.
Demorest who--Of course, that old love-affair. Well, you are a marvel!
Five years ago, at least, and you have not forgotten! I really must
write and tell her."
"Write and tell her!" Then it was all a lie about her death! He felt
not only his faith, his hope, his future leaving him, but even his
self-control. With an effort he said.--
"I think you have already satisfied my curiosity. I was told five years
ago that she was dead. It was because of the date of the photograph--two
years later--that I ventured to intrude upon you. I was anxious only to
know the truth."
"She certainly was very much living and of the world when I saw her
last, two years ago," said Mrs. Van Loo, with an easy smile. "I dare say
that was a ruse of her relatives--a very stupid one--to break off the
affair, for I think they had other plans. But, dear me! now I remember,
was there not some little quarrel between you before? Some letter from
you that was not very kind? My impression is that there was something
of the sort, and that the young lady was indignant. But only for a time,
you know. She very soon forgot it. I dare say if you wrote something
very charming to her it might not be too late. We women are very
forgiving, Mr. Demorest, and although she is very much sought after, as
are all young American girls whose fathers can give them a comfortable
'dot', her parents might be persuaded to throw over a poor prince for
a rich countryman in the end.
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