But," he added, a little mischievously,
"you seem to know very little about her?"
"No!--I--that is--I've been very busy lately," returned Thatcher,
staring at the picture. "Does she come here often?"
"Yes, lately, quite often; she was here this evening with mother; was
here, I think, when you came."
Thatcher looked intently at Harlowe. But that gentleman's face betrayed
no confusion. Thatcher refilled his glass a little awkwardly, tossed off
the liquor at a draught, and rose to his feet.
"Come, old fellow, you're not going now. I shan't permit it," said
Harlowe, laying his hand kindly on his client's shoulder. "You're out of
sorts! Stay here with me to-night. Our accommodations are not large,
but are elastic. I can bestow you comfortably until morning. Wait here a
moment while I give the necessary orders."
Thatcher was not sorry to be left alone. In the last half hour he had
become convinced that his love for Carmen de Haro had been in some way
most dreadfully abused. While HE was hard at work in California, she was
being introduced in Washington society by parties with eligible brothers
who bought her paintings.
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