"To think that any human thing could sink so low!" he almost hissed….
And he was gone, taking with him the child he loved.
It is safe to play with a soul just so far—sometimes it is safe to play even farther, when one really knows one's strength…. The woman had possibly overestimated her prowess—and yet possibly she had not—it were hard to tell of one who knows the things that we do not—who does not know the things that we do. There was manhood, and honor, and decency in Schuyler yet—a little, of a sort. He struck her in the face—full upon the vivid, crimson lips—and a little of their crimson seemed to leave its lair. It trickled down upon the dead whiteness of her skin…. But she still smiled. Her white arms went forth languorously. Her lithe, slender, beautiful body undulated. Her eyes were on his…. She still smiled….
Again he struck her…. Still she smiled…. Her eyes looked into his.
He raised his hand to strike again…. The hand did not fall…. Her eyes were on his; and she still smiled…. She gauged her power well. Perhaps, at times, she flattered it, a little—but never much…. She still smiled…. Perhaps, it was that which she desired. It were hard to tell. For, after all….
[Illustration]
CHAPTER THIRTY.
AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
Blake, leaving the house, lifted Muriel into the big, French car and got in beside her. Her little mind was in great puzzlement; and of Blake she began to ask the countless questions that flew to her lips. "Why was daddy living there, when mother dear and she were with Aunt Elinor?" "Who was the lady that she had seen, and did he know her?" "Was daddy living there all alone, and when was he coming to live with them, as he used?" and many, many more.
Some of them Blake answered as best he could; others he evaded. His heart ached within him sorely…. Almost he wished that he were a woman; the relief of tears would have meant much.
With childish, wondering question stinging deeper and yet more deep, he watched the stream of traffic swirl past—car and cab, brougham and 'bus. They were on the Avenue—Fifth Avenue, like which there is no other street in our land.