Pet repeated her father's regrets and hopes in the more impressive
language of her sweet eyes, and, for the twentieth time that day,
conjured up, in the memory of Marcus Wilkeson, a vague reminiscence of
the distant past.
CHAPTER VIII.
MALTBOY'S TWENTIETH AFFAIR.
The house which had elicited Quigg's last sagacious remark, was a
three-story brownstone front, and was one of the finest looking on the
south side. The heavy mahogany door was opened by a slovenly girl, who
ushered the callers into the front parlor, which was carefully darkened,
according to the custom of the day. The only objects plainly visible
were two female figures, each seated near a front window, under the
rosy shade of damask curtains artfully disposed. One of the ladies, whom
Matthew Maltboy was not slow to recognize, looked like a fountain of
pink silk, gushing out with great vehemence in high, curving jets on
every side; from which fountain a slim, graceful figure had risen, as
far as the waist, like a modern Arethusa. The gleam of a shapely neck,
of a pearl necklace and diamond cross, of diamond earrings, of an
enormous gold brooch, of golden gyves an inch broad on each wrist, as
the rose-tinted rays fell on those natural and artificial charms,
produced a dazzling effect in the shady corner.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82