“Will you come back with me to Miss Van Hoosen’s? We can reach my room without disturbing the ladies.”
“No. If you are not cold, we will walk here. What have you to tell me about Rose?”
“You know that I love her?”
“I have known that a long time.”
“Well, every man loves in his own way; and mine is a way you may not understand. However, I cannot live if Rose is long out of my sight; and so I have seen some things—Oh, dear Harry! need I tell you?”
Harry shook his head, and was gloomily silent.
“I saw Rose go into Delmonico’s this afternoon, after the matinee. There was a person with her who 148 has often been with her lately—that is, when Rose is without Mrs. Filmer’s company.”
“Who is he?”
“I do not know him. I have not liked to ask any questions about him. He is tall, with a supple, languid figure. He has the face of a fallen angel, handsome and wicked. I have noticed his eyes particularly, because, though he is dark as a Mexican, the eyes are a calm frosty blue—cold and cruel.”
“I know whom you mean. His name is Duval. So Rose was with him to-day?”