“Her husband,” she said. Was she married? Possibly so.
This thought did not in any way add to his composure. On the contrary, it seemed to fret and chafe him. He generally viewed affairs from his own standpoint; perhaps he was not singular in this respect, for there are multitudes of other persons who make it a practice to do precisely the same thing.
He persuaded himself that he was an ill-used man—that his most intimate associates turned against him for no imaginable reason, and he therefore declared war against the whole human race. How well he carried this out the history of his life but too plainly demonstrates.
He considered that Bessie Dalton had acted towards him in a manner which was altogether incomprehensible.
She had treated him—so he considered—with the basest ingratitude, when in reality she had but cast aside a man who was not worthy a moment’s consideration.
At one time she had been in a measure attached to the selfish, unscrupulous burglar, but that time had long since passed away.
“My word!” he ejaculated; “but she knows how to ape the fine lady. I never should have thought it was in her. She certainly plays the part to perfection, the pretentious overbearing little devil! Well, this little affair knocks me completely silly. What on earth can she be doing? She’s evidently got into a good position by some means or other. It’s altogether a mystery. It appears to me that everybody gets shoved on in this world but myself—Aveline, Bessie, and Lord knows who else besides!”
He paced the grounds of the palace in a restless and troubled manner. His mind was ill at ease. He had been singularly unfortunate in his escapades with the fair sex.
He had wasted his thoughts and time at Broxbridge over the girl Nellie, and now he was treated with scorn by an old flame, whose absence had caused him so much concern.
All this he found hard to bear.