The Fatal Glove | Page 8

whose house she
made her home, and where she reigned a very queen. Old Trevlyn's
heart at last found something beside his diamonds to worship, and
Margie had it all her own way.
She came into the store of Belgrade and Co. one day, and asked to look
at some laces. Trevlyn was the only clerk disengaged, and with a very
changeable face he came forward to attend to her. He felt that she
would recognize him at once--that she would remember where she had
seen him the last time--a house-breaker! She held his reputation in her
keeping.
His hand trembled as he took down the laces--she glanced at his face. A
start of surprise--a conscious, painful blush swept over her face. He
dropped the box, and the rich laces fell over her feet.
"Pardon me," he said hurriedly, and, stooping to pick them up, the little
glove he had stolen on that night, and which he wore always in his
bosom, fell out, and dropped among the laces.
She picked it up with a little cry.
"The very glove that I lost four years ago! And you are--" she stopped
suddenly.
He paled to the lips, but, lifting his head proudly, said: "Go on. Finish
the sentence. I can bear it."
"No, I will not go on. Let the memory die, I knew you then, but you
were so young, and had to bear so much among temptations! And the

other was a villain. No, I am silent. You are safe."
He stooped, and, lifting the border of her shawl, kissed it reverently.
"If I live," he said solemnly, "you will be glad you have been so
merciful. Some time I shall hear you say so."
She did not purchase any laces. She went out forgetful of her errand,
and Arch was so awkward for the remainder of the day, and committed
so many blunders, that his fellow-clerks laughed at him unrebuked, and
Mr. Belgrade seriously wondered if Trevlyn had not been taking too
much champagne.
* * * * *
Margie Harrison and her guardian sat at breakfast. Mr. Trevlyn showed
his years very plainly. He was nearly seventy-five--he looked eighty.
Margie looked very lovely this morning and it was of this the old man
was thinking as he glanced at her across the table. She had more than
fulfilled the promise of her childhood. The golden hair was chestnut
now, and pushed behind her ears in heavy rippling masses of light and
shadow. Her eyes had taken a deeper tone--they were like wells whose
depth you could not guess at. Her features were delicately irregular, the
forehead low, broad and white; her chin was dimpled as an infant's, and
her mouth still ripe and red, as a damask rosebud. She wore a pink
muslin wrapper, tied with white ribbons, and in her hair drooped a
cluster of apple-blossoms.
"Margie dear," said Mr. Trevlyn, pausing in his work of buttering a
muffin, "I want you to look your prettiest to-night. I am going to bring
home a friend of mine--one who was also your father's friend--Mr.
Linmere. He arrived from Europe to-day."
Margie's cheek lost a trifle of its peachy bloom. She toyed with her
spoon, but did not reply to his remark.
"Did you understand me, child? Mr. Linmere has returned."

"Yes sir."
"And is coming here to-night. Remember to take extra pains with
yourself, Margie, for he has seen all the European beauties, and I do not
want my little American flower to be cast in the shade. Will you
remember it?"
"Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Trevlyn."
"Margie!"
"Yes!"
"You are aware that Mr. Linmere is your affianced husband, are you
not?"
"I have been told so."
"And yet in the face of that fact--well, of all things, girls do beat me!
Thank heaven, I have none of my own!" he added testily.
"Girls are better let alone, sir. It is very hard to feel one's self bound to
fulfil a contract of this kind."
"Hard! Well, now, I should think it easy. Mr. Linmere is all that any
reasonable woman could wish. Not too old, nor yet too young; about
forty-five, which is just the age for a man to marry; good-looking,
intelligent and wealthy--what more could you ask?"
"You forgot that I do not love him--that he does not love me."
"Love! tush! Don't let me hear anything about that. I loath the name.
Margie, love ruined my only son! For love he disobeyed me and I
disowned him, I have not spoken his name for years! Your father
approved of Mr. Linmere, and while you were yet a child you were
betrothed. And when your father died, what did you promise him on his
deathbed?"
Margie grew white as the ribbons at her