If - he was right!
Why not? Trent looked with keen, merciless eyes through his past,
and saw never a thing there to make him glad. He had started life
a workman, with a few ambitions' all of a material nature - he had
lived the life of a cold, scheming money-getter, absolutely selfish,
negatively moral, doing little evil perhaps, but less good. There
was nothing in his life to make him worthy of a woman's love, most
surely there was nothing which could ever make it possible that such
a woman as Ernestine Wendermott should ever care for him. All the
wealth of Africa could never make him anything different from what
he was. And yet, as he sat and realised this, he knew that he was
writing down his life a failure. For, beside his desire for her,
there were no other things he cared for in life. Already he was
weary of financial warfare - the City life had palled upon him. He
looked around the magnificent room in the mansion which his agents
had bought and furnished for him. He looked at the pile of letters
waiting for him upon his desk, little square envelopes many of them,
but all telling the same tale, all tributes to his great success,
and the mockery of it all smote hard upon the walls of his fortitude.
Lower and lower his head drooped until it was buried in his folded
arms - and the hour which followed he always reckoned the bitterest
of his life.
Pages:
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314