"Liar!" she repeated. "In this room last night--not twenty-four hours
ago--Mr. Wynderton told me all about it. He said that you told several
men in his presence that you did not love me, and that your death
reported in the papers was the best way of breaking off the engagement."
Seymour Michael's eyes never wavered. For once they were still, with
that solemn depth of gaze which tells of the curse laid on a smitten,
miserable race. It was strange that before honest men and women his
glance wavered ever--he could never meet honest eyes; but looking at Anna
Agar they were as steady as those of a true man.
"Wynderton," ho said, "the man whose promotion I stopped, by a report
against him for looting."
When Nature makes a fool in the guise of a woman she turns out a finished
work. Mrs. Agar's eyes actually lighted up. Seymour Michael saw; but he
knew that he had no case. Nevertheless, in view of the Squire's advanced
age (a fact of which he had made sure), he attempted to carry through a
forlorn hope.
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