It would have been so easy to have broken off the thing gently
and by degrees, and now he was saddled with--Boulte's voice recalled him.
"I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'm pretty
sure you'd get none from killing me."
Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, Boulte
added--"'Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to keep to the
woman, now you've got her. You've been a true friend to her too, haven't you?"
Kurrell stared long and gravely. The situation was getting beyond him.
"What do you mean?" he said.
Boulte answered, more to himself than the questioner: 'My wife came over to
Mrs. Vansuythen's just now; and it seems you'd been telling Mrs. Vansuythen
that you'd never cared for Emma. I suppose you lied, as usual. What had Mrs.
Vansuythen to do with you, or you with her? Try to speak the truth for once in
a way."
Kurrell took the double insult without wincing, and replied by another
question: "Go on. What happened?"
"Emma fainted," said Boulte, simply. "But, look here, what had you been saying
to Mrs. Vansuythen?"
Kurrell laughed. Mrs. Boulte had, with unbridled tongue, made havoc of his
plans; and he could at least retaliate by hurting the man in whose eyes he was
humiliated and shown dishonorable.
Pages:
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412