“What do you mean?” cried his niece, in a startled tone.
“Surely, at your age, you do not contemplate——”
Mr. Rosevelt stopped her with a motion of his hand before she could complete her sentence.
“No; you are wide of the mark; although I am not surprised that a designing woman like yourself should jump at such an absurd conclusion. But, lest you should wound her by your foolish insinuations, I will tell you that Star is the granddaughter of the only woman whom I ever loved; and, therefore, you perceive that I had additional cause to be displeased with you on account of your unkindness to her.”
“Really, Mr. Rosevelt, you have more of sentiment in your composition than I gave you credit for. There was a love passage, then, in the old bachelor’s life!” sneered Mrs. Richards while an angry flush mounted to her brow.
Then, with more bitterness than she had yet betrayed, she continued, with a look at Star:
“I can congratulate Miss Gladstone upon being more successful in wheedling you out of your fortune than she was in her maneuvers to become Lady Carrol.”
This was a cruel thrust, and wholly unexpected on the part of either Mr. Rosevelt or Star.
A shiver of agony ran through every nerve of her body at this rough probing of the still unhealed wound, and a painful crimson shot over her beautiful face.
But it quickly subsided, leaving only the bright spots on her cheeks.