“Oh, woman, in our hour of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
But, seen too oft, familiar with her face;
We first endure, then pity, then embrace!”
The Chateau O'Sullivan was a flare and a glare of lights. The rooms were jungles of palms and tropical plants. Flowers were everywhere, while the air tottered and fainted under the burden of their perfume. Imogene O'Sullivan never looked more beautiful.
But George D'Orsey did not come.
Hour followed hour into the past. The guests moved uneasily from room to room. The preacher notified Benton O'Sullivan that he was ready.
And still George D'Orsey came not.
“The villain has laid down on us, me child!” whispered Benton O'Sullivan to the weeping Imogene; “but may me hopes of heaven die of heart failure if I have not me revenge! No man shall insult the proud house of. O'Sullivan and get away with it; not without blood!”
The guests cheerfully dispersed, talking the most scandalous things in whispers.