The Fatal Glove | Page 8

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 throat.
"I promised him that I would try and fulfil his requirements."
"That you would try! Yes. And that was equal to giving an unqualified assent. You know the conditions of the will, I believe?"
"I do. If I marry without your consent under the age of twenty-one, I forfeit my patrimony. And I am nineteen now. And I shall not marry without your consent."
"Margie, you must marry Mr. Linmere. Do not hope to do differently. It is your duty. He has lived single all these years waiting for you. He will be kind to you, and you will be happy. Prepare to receive him with becoming respect."
Mr. Trevlyn considered his duty performed, and went out for his customary walk.
At dinner Mr. Linmere arrived. Margie met him with cold composure. He scanned her fair face and almost faultless form, with the eye of a connoisseur, and congratulated himself on the fortune which was to give him, such a