So speaking, he strode from the room and made after Mark Horton, who had gone to his private apartment on the second floor.
He found the retired merchant resting in an easy-chair by the window, his head bowed low.
"Cheer up, uncle," he said, placing his hand on the other's shoulder. "Let me pour you a glass of wine."
And he walked to a medicine closet in a corner and got out a bottle he had brought a few days before.
"Thank you, Homer; I will have a little wine," replied the retired merchant.
The wine was poured out and Mark Horton gulped it down. Homer Bulson watched him closely, and then turned away his face to hide a sinister smile.
"I cannot understand Gertrude," said Mark Horton. "I always thought she preferred you."
"I think she has another person in view," answered Bulson, struck with a certain idea.
"Another? Who is it?"
"I would rather not say, uncle."