She was seated on the bed half undressed busy with some work in her lap.
“Oh, female vanity! female vanity!” he soliloquised. “The new ribbon for the Sunday bonnet, or the worked hem for your Sunday petticoat, is sufficient to impel you to almost fabulous exertions; to work your fingers to the bone; to rob you of your needful sleep; to make you burn your master’s candles. As men labour to increase their wealth, so women will to decorate their persons.”
Filled with these sage reflections, he was about to withdraw his eye from its post of observation, when, to his surprise, the girl placed her work on one side, and rose from her seat.
She proceeded to disrobe herself, and was evidently preparing to go to bed.
“She’s a fine woman—that is evident enough,” cried Fortescue, who was, however, afraid to risk staying any longer—so he crept up to his own room again. “She hates me and mistrusts me, and will baulk me if she can. She is no contemptible enemy, it must be confessed—is self-reticent and watchful. But I hold a trump card in my hand which she little suspects. Well, we shall see. When you draw your sword, Miss Kitty, you will find that you have only a feather in your sheath.”
CHAPTER CIX.
A YOUNG WIFE’S DANGER—THE DENOUEMENT.
Mr. Fortescue managed to sleep pretty soundly, despite his plans and machinations. He was such a consummate scoundrel and hypocrite that he was enabled to carry out his infamous project with the utmost coolness and address.
He had neither pity nor remorse for the friend who had cherished him in such good faith and in such unshaken confidence.
He rose early, in the hope of enjoying half an hour with Patty before her husband returned to breakfast. He had met her thus the day before, and had told her that he intended to rise earlier the next morning.