“What fools men are, anyway! They would be lots better off if they left the women alone and remained bachelors all their lives, but instead of that they must always be getting into hot water over the pretty dears. We are weak as children, where woman is concerned, that’s the truth. Now, I wonder what is up with Rosalind? I pray Heaven she does not treat me to a fit of hysterics.”
Suzette opened a door into a shaded rose-hung boudoir, and disappeared.
He stepped across the threshold and was alone with Rosalind.
The slighted beauty lay gracefully posing among the silken pillows of an Oriental couch.
She wore a negligee robe of soft white lansdowne, embroidered in blue flowers that matched the striking hue of her beautiful eyes. The golden lengths of her thick hair flowed unconfined over her shoulders, and her face, even to her lips, wore a bluish pallor of illness and suffering.
At Charley’s entrance a melancholy smile curved her lips, and she extended her white hand, glittering with diamonds, murmuring:
“Dear Charley, I was really too ill to receive you. See to what a plight your falsity has brought me. But I hoped against hope you had relented, and wished everything to be as before, so I sent for you. Ah, tell me, dear, is it true?”
Charley’s heart quickly sank like a stone in his breast, for he saw that his presentiment was right; hysterics were impending, sure enough!
He felt like swearing, but he controlled the impulse and stood gazing at her, speechlessly, while she raved on:
“Oh, Charley, dearest, I’ve thought it all over until my brain is almost wild, and I’ve decided that I cannot, will not give you up to my rival! I have the first, best claim, and I will yield it to no other. Ah, say that you will love me still, that you will be true to your vows!”