He
would drink this delightful cup of revenge for her long years of
disdainful kindness--ah, he would drink it slowly to prolong its
sweetness. Sip by sip--he rubbed his long, thin, white hands
together--sip by sip, tasting each mouthful.
"Eh, now? You know well enough, Thyra."
"I know nothing of what you would be at, August Vorst. You speak
of my son and Damaris--was that the name?--Damaris Garland as if
they were something to each other. I ask you what you mean by
it?"
"Tut, tut, Thyra, nothing very terrible. There's no need to look
like that about it. Young men will be young men to the end of
time, and there's no harm in Chester's liking to look at a lass,
eh, now? Or in talking to her either? The little baggage, with
the red lips of her! She and Chester will make a pretty pair.
He's not so ill-looking for a man, Thyra."
"I am not a very patient woman, August," said Thyra coldly. "I
have asked you what you mean, and I want a straight answer. Is
Chester down at Tom Blair's while I have been sitting here,
alone, waiting for him?"
August nodded. He saw that it would not be wise to trifle longer
with Thyra.
"That he is. I was there before I came here. He and Damaris
were sitting in a corner by themselves, and very well-satisfied
they seemed to be with each other. Tut, tut, Thyra, don't take
the news so. I thought you knew. It's no secret that Chester
has been going after Damaris ever since she came here.
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