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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"


"What man, Miss Monfort? I--I, scarcely understand you! You surely do
not mean Mr. Bainrothe--your--"
"Guardian, nothing more, scarcely that," I interrupted, almost fiercely;
thus finishing out his sentence as he probably might not have done.
"Answer me truthfully, honorably, as you are a gentleman, has he
propagated this vile slander, for as such I feel it, and as such shall
resent it?"
"I do, do--not know positively--but I have reason to think that, either
directly or indirectly, the rumor comes from him. You know some men have
a way of insinuating things. I--I--cannot recall any thing positive or
definite. I cannot, indeed. He never spoke to me on the subject at all.
There was only an expression at times, as he bore you off, that seemed
to tell me that all my efforts to win you were vain. I can't see why you
lay such stress on the matter at all, Miss Monfort."
He had evidently the gentleman's true reluctance to make mischief.
"Lieutenant Raymond, I simply dislike to be placed in a false position,
or grossly misinterpreted or misrepresented. Do you see that unfortunate
person there?" I asked suddenly, "with his head drawn completely to one
side, and his arms and legs swathed in flannel bandages, hobbling feebly
along, followed by a youth (a relation, probably, bearing a camp-stool)
and a dingy little terrier-dog, on his way to the pool of Bethesda?" As
if he knew that he was the object of our attention, the man alluded to
stopped, and turned just then a face grotesquely hideous in our
direction, and, seeing me, smiled, and nodded feebly--disclosing, as he
did so, long, fang-like teeth, yellow, as if cut from lemon-rind, and
fantastically irregular.


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