"Not that I am aware of," and Doctor Shirley rose and threw away his half-smoked cigar, saying, carelessly: "I must be going. We poor devils of doctors never have time to smoke a whole cigar. Say, Templeton, Mrs. St. John has her mother and sister staying with her. Deuced handsome girl, that Lora Carroll! Very like her sister! And—don't go off in a fit, now, Templeton—in a very few months there will be a little heir to your deceased uncle's name and fortune!"
"I don't believe it!" exclaimed Howard Templeton, springing to his feet, while his handsome face grew white and red by turns.
"You don't believe it? That's because you don't want to believe it. But I give you my word and honor as a professional man and her medical attendant, that it is a self-evident fact," and laughing at his, little joke, the gossiping old doctor hurried away from the club-room.
[CHAPTER IX.]
"I don't believe it!" Howard Templeton repeated angrily, as he stood still where Doctor Shirley had left him, those unexpected words ringing through his brain.
"What is it you don't believe, Templeton?" inquired one of the "gilded youth," dawdling in and overhearing the remark.
"I don't believe anything—that's my creed," answered Templeton, snatching his hat, and hurrying out. He wanted to be out in the cold, fresh air. Somehow it seemed to him as if a hand grasped his throat, choking his life out.
He walked aimlessly up and down the crowded thoroughfare, seemingly blind and deaf to all that went on around him.
Men's eyes remarked the tall, well-proportioned form and handsome, blonde face with envy.