“My skill is small else. With that letter that you forged, to work on, I ought to be able to manage it.”
“And otherwise,—”
“Otherwise, prepare yourself for the worst.” Hoyt spoke seriously, even solemnly, and Avice knew he meant every word he said. With a sob in her throat, she turned to him and held out her hand.
“So be it, then,” she said, and her voice was as sad as a funeral chime. “But always remember that I warned you I don’t love you.”
“I’ll make you love me!” and Hoyt’s voice rang out exultantly.
CHAPTER XV
THE TRAP THAT WAS SET
When, in his conversation with Judge Hoyt, Terence McGuire stated that his wardrobe purchases were made under the guidance and jurisdiction of his sister, he was creating a fabrication of purest ray serene. For, in this sorry scheme of things, no sister had been allotted to Fibsy, nor, until that moment, had he ever felt need of one. So, the need arising, a sister easily sprang, full fledged, from the red head of the well-named inventor.
Fibsy, likewise was unprovided with parents, and lived with a doting aunt. This relative, a knobby-coiffured spinster, was of the firmly grounded opinion that the orb of day has its rising and setting in her prodigy of a nephew. That he was not a bigoted stickler for the truth, bothered her not at all, for Fibsy never told his aunt lies, at least none that could possibly matter to her.
Now, being temporarily out of a business position, and not minded to go at once to Philadelphia, Fibsy was giving Aunt Becky the ecstatic bliss of having him at home for a time.
He was mostly absorbed in thoughts and plans of his own, but when she saw him, hands in pockets, sprawled bias on a chair, she forbore to bother him; and, like Charlotte, went on cutting bread and butter, to which she added various and savory dishes for her pet’s demolition.