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People have so much time in the country that it is little wonder that our acquaintance ripened into friendship during the holidays, and that one of my first visits when I had got settled for the winter was to Petralto's rooms. Their locality might have cooled some people, but not me.
"Yes." "He seems devotedly in love with her." "He loved her two years before he saw her." "Impossible." "Not at all. I have a mind to tell you the story." "Do. Come home with me, and we will have a quiet dinner together." "No. I need to be alone an hour or two. Call on me about nine o'clock." Petralto's rooms were a little astonishment to me.
There was a bright fire in the grate, a flood of light from the numerous gas jets, and an atmosphere heavy with the seductive, fragrant vapor of Havana. I lit my own cigar, made myself comfortable, and waited until it was Petralto's pleasure to begin. After a while he said, "Jack, turn that easel so that you can see the picture on it." I did so.
Petralto's pale olive face flushed a bright crimson, his eyes flashed and dropped; he whipped the horse into a furious gallop, as if he would escape something; then became preternaturally calm, drew suddenly up, and stood waiting for a handsome equipage which was approaching. Its occupants were bending forward to speak to him.
He began to apologize to me for Petralto's rudeness, and excuse "anything in a fellow whom he had cut out so badly." "Liar!" Petralto retorted. "She loved me first; you can never have her whole heart. Begone! If I had you on the Guadalupe, where Jessy and I lived and loved, I would " The sentence was not finished.
Therefore, anyone may imagine my astonishment when, about three years after Petralto's departure from New York, he one morning suddenly entered my study, handsome as Apollo and happy as a bridegroom. I have used the word "groom" very happily, for I found out in a few minutes that Petralto's radiant condition was, in fact, the condition of a bridegroom.
And here Petralto, giving full sway to his impassioned Southern nature, covered his face with his hands and wept hot, regretful tears. Tears come like blood from men of cold, strong temperaments, but they were the natural relief of Petralto's. I let him weep. In a few minutes he leaped up, and began pacing the room rapidly as he went on: "Mr.
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