His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. "Close the court, Mr. 1. Well, that’s the situation. ” “Of course,” his friend answered. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to. There is no other way. ” “My wife was astounded—wounded beyond measure. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. Her shoulders began to ache. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer.
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