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Hume, Fergus, 1859-1932

"Madame Midas"

'
He bowed and smiled.
'So glad you understand the position,' he said, blandly; 'I see the
age of miracles is not yet past when a woman can talk sense.'
'You won't disturb me with your sneers,' retorted the girl, glaring
fiercely at him out of the gathering gloom in the room; 'I am not
the innocent girl I once was.'
'It is needless to tell me that,' he said, coarsely.
She drew herself up at the extreme insult.
'Have a care, Gaston,' she muttered, hurriedly, 'I know more about
your past life than you think.'
He rose from his seat and approached his face, now white as her own,
to hers.
'What do you know?' he asked, in a low, passionate voice.
'Enough to be dangerous to you,' she retorted, defiantly.
They both looked at one another steadily, but the white face of the
woman did not blench before the scintillations of his eyes.
'What you know I don't know,' he said, steadily; 'but whatever it
is, keep it to yourself, or--,' catching her wrist.
'Or what?' she asked, boldly.
He threw her away from him with a laugh, and the sombre fire died
out of his eyes.
'Bah!' he said, gaily, 'our comedy is turning into a tragedy; I am
as foolish as you; I think,' significantly, 'we understand one
another.'
'Yes, I think we do,' she answered, calmly, the colour coming back
to her cheek. 'Neither of us are to refer to the past, and we both
go on our different roads unhindered.


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