He turned no wistful glances toward the
girl who had so long satisfied his eyes, and, as he had believed,
his heart. He felt much the same as if he had been imposed upon by a
cunning disguise. Unknown to her, he had caught a glimpse of what
the mask concealed, and his soul was shuddering at the deformities to
which he had so nearly allied himself. Her very beauty, with its false
promise, had become hateful to him.
"She is indeed a speculator," he thought, "and I'm a little curious
to see how she will continue her game." It afforded him vindictive
amusement that she often, yet furtively, turned her eyes toward him as
if he were still a factor in it.
She never looked once in Graydon's direction but that Arnault was
aware of the act. There was no longer any menace in his deportment
toward her--he was as devoted as the place and time would permit--but
in his eyes dwelt a vigilance and a resolution which should have given
her warning.
After supper Mr. and Mrs. Muir found a comfortable nook on the piazza,
and the banker smoked his cigar with ineffable content.
"Do you feel too tired for a waltz, Madge?" Graydon asked.
"The idea! when I've rested in the cars half a day."
"Oh, Madge!" he whispered; "dear, sweet little friend--you know I mean
sister, only I dare not say it--I'm so glad to be with you again! What
makes you look so radiant to-night? You look as though you had a world
of happy thoughts behind those sparkling eyes.
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