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Updated: May 1, 2025
Thus encouraged, Dona Rosita began, addressing herself first in Spanish to Demorest, who understood the language better than his wife, and lapsing into her characteristic English as she appealed to them both. It was really very little to interest Don Ricardo this story of a silly muchacha like herself and a strange caballero.
An ominous silence on the veranda followed, broken finally by Mrs. Demorest. "I don't think it was necessary for you to show your dislike to Dona Rosita quite so plainly," she said, coldly, slightly accenting the Puritan stiffness, which any conjugal tete-a-tete lately revived in her manner. "I show dislike of Dona Rosita?" stammered Demorest, in surprise.
Our luck has made them rather sore down the hill, for all they're coming to the dinner to-morrow." "That's only human nature," said Demorest. "But," said Barker eagerly, "what does it mean?
I'm not ashamed of anything I've done, my girl, nor need you be. I'll tell him my real name is Dick Demorest, as I ought to have told you before, and that I want to marry you, fairly and squarely, and let him make the conditions. I'm not a vagabond nor a thief, Lulu, if I have met you on the sly. Come, dear, let us end this now. Come "
"There's a good deal in that, Barker boy," said Demorest, "though, as a general thing, passwords butter no parsnips, and the ordinary, every-day, single yelp from a wolf brings the whole pack together for business about as quick as a password. But you cling to that sentiment, and put it away with your gold-dust in your belt." "What I like about Barker is his commodiousness," said Stacy.
But so heterodox an opinion only irritated his antagonist the more, especially as he noticed that the handsome woman in the back seat appeared to be interested in the conversation, and even sympathetic with Demorest.
Her eyes were flaming and her lips were white with fury, though she continued to smile. "Here! What d'you mean by that?" he cried. She silenced him sharply: "Hush! Remember you broke in here. I'd like to see you in that fountain." There was a swish of garments, a musical laugh, and Adoree Demorest was between them. "I'm madly jealous, Senor Roberto," she exclaimed.
Crouching still in the corner, he heard the quick rush of hurrying feet in the darkness, saw the door open and Demorest glide out saw her glance hurriedly after him, close the door, and involve herself and him in the blackness of the hall.
The house was comparatively silent and deserted when Demorest walked into his wife's boudoir. It was a pretty room, looking upon the garden, furnished with a singular mingling of her own inherited formal tastes and the more sensuous coloring and abandon of her new life.
It was Mademoiselle Demorest herself, and her greeting was so effusive that the stream of shoppers halted in the aisle. Mademoiselle Demorest wore a gown of a style that proved her taste in dress as individual as her choice of motor-cars.
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